#bible honey YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL

[boysbeloving]

Bible Wichapas Insta update

I recently reconnected with my relatives and found my given Chinese name (卓乐华) Zhuo Lehua. I want to wish everyone happiness and health in this year the year of the dragon. 🐉

[blkkizzat]

'SINS OF THE FATHER'

PRIEST!NANAMI X READER

✟ the liturgy: (summary) Even the most pious of men succumb to temptation and Father Kento is no exception... especially when it comes to you. (Priest!Nanami POV) ✟ the confession: (tw) dark themes, sacrilege, adultery, blasphemy, jealously, exhibitionism, blackmail/manipulation, heavy biblical references, cunnalingus, fingering, riding dick, shoe fucking, blow jobs, panty sniffing, olfactophilia, dacryphilia, lightly suggested altarboy!yuji (aged-up) x reader, oil tycoon!gojo x reader, suggested mentions of reader x other jjk men, corruption, masturbation and angst as you are literally tormenting this poor priest (lol). ✟ the sins: (wc) 4.1k ✟ the opening rites:(a/n) i grew up catholic (got confirmed too) and went to catholic school but haven't stepped inside a church in literal years. i was honestly surprised how many bible references came so easily from pure memory while writing this.

Sanctified conviction radiates off Father Kento as he approaches the inordinately adorned wood carved pulpit with authority to address his congregation. 

Despite the uncomfortable Summer heat there is no lack of attendance, a sea of familiar faces packed into the small town chapel. The buzzing song of cicadas and soft oscillation of the large fan circulating humid air through the church are the only sounds heard as the masses eagerly await his homily.

You were among them of course. 

Sitting front and center– a small saccharine smile graced your lips while your doe-like eyes, captivated and attentive, were made even bigger as they raised to the podium to meet his own.

Bible open, Father Kento takes a full breath pause before he finally speaks, his gaze is benevolent yet his voice is firm as it projects over the congregation. 

“Dear Brothers and Sisters– Let us reflect on the gospel of First Corinthians Chapter 10 Verse 13…and The Lord says– ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man—”

Oh but you– you were anything but common– and irregardless of any higher standing his status as a clergy member bestowed upon him he was still a man of flesh and blood.

No matter the effort exerted, Father Kento had been unable to keep his eyes from yours during the service. The magnetism of unknown and certainly unholy forces drew him to you time and again without fail.

No beauty in town rivaled yours, not with an angelic countenance that complemented your delicate features so gracefully in your every action. 

Yours was a form of divine femininity rivaling that of Venus herself. 

If that wasn’t beguiling enough, your honeyed voice and syrupy words had the ability to sway even the most feral of temperaments. Leaving those who heard it at your mercy like a gentle but deadly siren.

“—but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able—”

Is God faithful? 

Ironic how you had Father Kento questioning the very foundations of his own faith while simultaneously indoctrinating God’s dogma to his faithful parishioners.  

If you were a test he had failed. 

Many times.

Even the first man, Adam, had fallen to Eve’s allures and not even the warrior strength of Samson was able to overcome Delilah’s seductions. 

Who was he to prevail where the biblical idols had fallen?

What actual grace could God give man against the sensual temptation that he had carved from man’s own rib? 

Father Kento had felt forsaken of God’s grace ever since you had approached him after mass to quietly request the rites of confession. He should have refused when you kindly solicited him to perform them in the cooler confines of the secluded rectory over the oven-like heat of a chapel confessional box in summer. 

Led astray so effortlessly by your genial charms as you looked to him like a lamb lost and addressed him so meekly as “Father Kento”. He would have just as easily given you access to heaven then if it were in his power.

Yet it was you who had so graciously led him to the gates of Zion— which so conveniently happened to reside in the velvety depths between your thighs. 

Consequently, the only sins that were confessed in the rectory that day were the moist squelches of your peach-ripened pussy gushing around his cock and coalescing with the frenzied sounds of hot flesh slapping together in unison. 

A child of Lilth incarnate to be sure but you looked so pure and celestial, even in ecstasy.

Hair matted to the sides of your face drenched in sweat while your nimble hands clutched onto his clerical collar. Your eyes filled with such loving devotion and you rode him earnestly as if it was your life’s penance. 

Father Kento in turn gives you his absolution by taking you from behind. The swell of your plump rear rippling against his hips and shared fluids splashing onto his hard abdomen feverishly drive him closer to God than he’d ever been.

Yes, he is weak. 

But Father Kento held the conviction that not even The Vicar of Christ, the Pope himself would be able to resist the vice grip of your silken cunt as if its true purpose was never to bear life but to wring out the very essence of the soul of man. 

He’d fallen prey to a day-walking succubus on hallowed holy grounds. 

No– Father Kento was certain if this church had ever truly been blessed as a house of God you would have caught aflame the moment you graced its threshold. 

“—but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye are able to bear it’.”

Father Kento concluded the passage. Nonetheless, neither it nor any other doctrine had provided him the solace of escape and nor biblical strength did he receive to endure against his temptations.

There was no resisting you. 

There was no escaping you. 

For anyone you cast your sights on.

This is exemplified by the obvious effect you have on the young alter boy Yuji. 

Barely old enough to be called a man, the youth's entire body flinches whenever you spare a sweet glance in his direction. 

Has Yuji’s innocence already been stolen? 

Father Kento must quell the inkling of jealousy at the thought lest he stumble over his words and shame himself further.

He was a man in every sense of the word and a man of the cloth, he would not compete for your adulterous affections with his own altar boy.

Even so, Father Kento’s lip does curl in disapproval at the deep flush of guilt on Yuji’s cheeks. Yuji clumsily trips over his own feet, nearly permitting the blessed vessels for the rites of eucharist to fall to the ground.

Harlot! Have you really allowed someone other than himself to bathe in the sins of Jezebel?

Maintaining composure through his sermon, Father Kento reminds himself that an inexperienced youth is no threat. 

However it is more than likely Yuji– who normally is so oblivious in nature– had likewise become aware of the wicked exhibition of sacrilege occurring beneath the prayer cloth in your lap at the very hands of your own husband– Satoru Gojo.

“So you may ask where does that leave us as followers of Christ? Temptations lure us into doing, saying or thinking something that does not reflect who we really are as sons and daughters of God.”

Neither you nor your husband were Christ’s children so none of these ideologies applied to either of you.

Nefarious philistines the both of you– godless and immoral.

Although Father Kento was for certain your husband, Oil Tycoon, Satoru Gojo– was the only one whose deeds could put yours to shame. 

The white haired devil had descended upon the quiet small town like a thief in the night to greedily capture the first few drops of black gold that surged from the earth before it could even fall to the ground. Quickly buying up land and resources, in less than a fortnight Gojo essentially had control over the entire town– its priest included.

But as he became more wealthy, so did the town and its people. Satoru Gojo built up the town around him to match his own gluttony for opulence, taking the town and its people away from simple old time comforts and into the more complex modern age. 

Therefore the man was seen as a saintly savior, rather than the lecherous leech he truly was.

To Father Kento’s credit, if he deserved any at all– he had initially held strong in his faith. 

He was not a man tempted by the power that would come from a promotion to bishop if a larger church was built. Nor was he tempted by monetary gain. The treasures he had always held most valuable were only those to be found in God’s kingdom.

Familiar with the tricks masked by flamboyant arrays of grandior, Father Kento’s folly had been his own headstrong vainglory in being a man above the lures of temptation. Thus he failed in recognizing you as the seductive snake in sheep's clothing the cunning tycoon Gojo had sent to be his undoing.

And you had never once failed to unravel him.

Even now Father Kento struggles to keep himself together as you inconspicuously lean against your husband, your head resting gently on his shoulder while the dainty fan you are holding obscures the lower half of your face. 

What appears as an innocuous attempt to halt the perspiration rolling from your nape into your heaving bosom is merely a front to hide the sinful ‘o’ your cherry lips form.

Your chest softly heaves although your labored breaths aren’t from the humid heat shrouding the church– but the increasing warmth dampening in your loins. All which had been provoked by your husband slipping two fingers through the buttons of your thin sundress and into your pussy, lightly teasing its gooey folds. Gojo’s movements are mostly concealed by the cloth but Father Kento can make out the skillful circular motions stroking your spongy bud and causing the sporadic twitch in your knees. 

You had writhed similarly under him. You were always far too sensitive.

Fat tears would never fail to pour from your bright eyes when he would latch his mouth onto your sex. You would be his last supper if ever given the choice. If heaven had a flavor it would surely be akin to the taste of your pink candied cunt and he knew of no sweeter treat on earth.

Twas no wonder then how Father Kento easily loses all sense of self when flicking his tongue into your gaping slit. Swirling the appendage within your gummy walls he gluttonously slurps down the steady stream of your flowing nectar. 

Your mewls and cries for him are far lovelier than even the song of cherubim. Father Kento has committed them to memory and as such he knows when they reach a certain octave– your pitch so high it's practically soundless– you're nearing your nirvana.

Arriving at your peak you would thread your hands through his blonde locks and thrust your hips forward as if his mouth were salvation itself. Your manicured nails would dig into his scalp to rock his head deeper into your plump pussy. The actions would beckon his tongue to finally give you its mercy by dragging it flat up your folds to suckle and nip at your swollen clit.

You never called on God then. 

Nor your husband. 

Only Father Kento.

Coincidentally, Father Kento’s gaze locks with Gojo’s for a brief moment and Gojo’s pale lips curl into smirk. 

A fleeting look is shared before contact is broke but the message is clear: 

Satoru Gojo own’s everything in this town. 

Gojo owns your cunt. 

Your cunt owns Father Kento.

Therefore by proxy Gojo owns him.

The revelation has Father Kento showing the white of his knuckles from the intensity of his grip on the pulpit podium as you simultaneously release a silent scream brazenly cumming on your husband’s dexterous fingers in the middle of mass. 

“The time now is propitious for us all to make a journey of conversion, led by sincere faith to allow ourselves to be confronted with the Gospel. Let us confirm this commitment by sharing in The Body and The Blood of Christ.”

Proceeding with communion the altar boy Yuji stands next to Father Kento holding the tray where the blessed chalice of wine and platter of thin wafers reside as the congregation dutifully exits their rows to receive the eucharist. 

As it is the more modern way to receive communion the majority of the congregation choses to place their non-dominant palm up over the other to respectfully receive the host. Yet traditionally, the priest placed the blessed wafer directly on the tongue of the one receiving. This practice was typically only seen by the elderly, the most exceedingly pious and of course— you.

When it is your turn to approach you beam brightly as you and all your beauty seem to float before him.

“The Body of Christ.”

Father Kento raises the host before you.

“Amen.” 

You obediently replied. 

Like expected your eyes fluttered to close as your pillowy lips parted in order to accept the host directly in your mouth. 

God help him, this was the most sacred part of mass but the way your deviant tongue lulls out hot and thick with your saliva pooled on the edge and threatening to spill onto your lips has Father Kento shifting at his post.

You look just as compliant and yearning to receive as when you had been on your knees before him taking his cock in your mouth whole.

Father Kento delicately placed the host in your mouth in a similar fashion as to when he would tap the tip of his bulbous leaking cockhead onto your tongue. 

So willing to please you kiss his angry red mushroom tip to appease his cock, swirling your tongue over the tiny hole before puckering it between your lips to greedily suck any drops of pre that dribbled forth as you pumped his base.

You were a tease. 

That much was evident both then and now as you extended the tip of your tongue to caress the tip of his finger. A tiny kitten lick, but nevertheless a tingle ran through his cock in remembrance.  

“The Blood of Christ.”

Father Kento presents the wine symbolizing the blood before you. 

“Amen.”

Again you closed your eyes and allowed Father Kento to press the chalice against your parted lips. 

The very picture of amenability, you actually enjoyed when he went rougher on you as a result of your teasing. Father Kento would gather your hair into a tight grip as he not-so-gently rammed his cock past your tonsils and down your throat. 

It was unnatural and ungodly for a person to lack any semblance of a gag reflex such as you. 

In response you pressed your fingers into his thighs– not as a means of resistance, but to control your own lust as you began shamelessly humping your mound against his leg. You were always desperate to feel any small sensation against your cunt while he ravaged your mouth.

Of course, Father Kento would oblige you and in turn he is rewarded with the heavy moans that would vibrate around his cock as his oxford loafer pushed up into your soaked core. Your white lace lingerie did little to contain your juices and as such Father Kento made use of the fluids leaking from your pussy as polish to shine his shoe.

Having sipped the wine from the chalice you peer up at Father Kento as if seeking his approval. 

He gives you a small nod. 

Similar to the one he bestows upon you after his seed has filled your stomach and you lick your lips as if it was his essence and not The Blood of Christ that lingered on them.

In the beginning, he had prayed long and hard to forget those sinful images of you that would intrude unwelcomed into his mind. 

Yet you always had ways of sucking him back in. 

Such as leaving your soiled panties stuffed between his headboard. Father Kento thought he was going mad when even after changing the sheets thrice was he still plagued with your smell.

He should have burned the offensive garment as soon as it was discovered and yet he treated it with reverence as if it were a holy object of salvation. Truly an euphoric experience, on days he couldn’t have you he’d bury his nose into the fabric murmuring blasphemy as he worshiped the very scent of you while jerking his cock.

When Father Kento finally ceased trying to resist you he then had the fleeting thought he could save you. Bring you to God and away from your villainous husband. 

But you were no Mary Magdalene, there was no returning you to the flock.

You will not leave your husband who provides you wealth and security. Father Kento is not so enamored he holds illusions that extend beyond his reality. There is nothing Father Kento owns and nothing he can offer you but himself. 

The singular consolation of the tragic circumstances is that Father Kento is sure you prefer his touch. The touch of a seemingly pious man who only has desires for you.

Unlike your scoundrel of a husband who Father Kento was sure had not remained faithful to your marriage bed. Not the way most of the female townsfolk threw themselves at Satoru Gojo. If he had no qualms using you to achieve his means he certainly had none for himself. 

You were simply a pawn to be played, as was Father Kento.

“Before we depart I leave you with these words: Let every day be a new day to renew the promises of our Baptism: We renounce Satan and all his works and seductions — for sh– *ahem* HE – is the seducer. Now go forth, Brothers and Sisters and remain true in the light of God.”

The closing rites over, Father Kento has never been more relieved nor eager for the conclusion of a mass. Watching the congregation mingle in the entrance, he gives his farewell blessings to the parishioners.

A few still remained however you were nowhere to be seen. 

This was not odd, the Gojos were a busy couple, likely excusing themselves immediately to attend to more important affairs.

Or so he hoped.

“There you are, Father! Riveting service, as always.”

With a devious grin and a firm drawn-out handshake Gojo greets Father Kento. Turning to face the devil himself, Father Kento greets Satoru in turn with a strained smile and an even firmer grip. 

Yet still he is unable to show you any of the wrath you justly deserve and Father Kento’s smile is more genuine when he faces you.  

You regard Father Kento coyly as your husband’s arm tightens around your waist. Your face is flushed and it’s evident you are still weakened from the orgasm your husband gave you earlier in front of the entire congregation. 

That knowledge though is only held by the three of you, God and perhaps the altar boy Yuji.

Father Kento had never known you to be silent when cumming so the exertion of the effort you expended likely weighed heavy on you as displayed by how you are clinging to Gojo to keep from swaying on your feet. 

“Thank you. I am but a humble messenger of The Lord’s wor–.”

“– Wait. Hold that thought!”

Father Kento’s eyebrow twitches as Gojo's attention is momentarily called elsewhere. 

Every Sunday, a growing number of parishioners would seek Satoru Gojo’s greeting and recognition after service over that of their priest Father Kento. 

True to character Gojo makes an obnoxious show of charisma which leaves the last group of parishioners fawning and singing his praises as they exit.

“Forgive me, Father. Where were we? Ah– Of course! Yes, you are quite excellent in your delivery of God’s word, a true testament to your faith!”

His flattery is so obviously false in its sincerity that Father Kento is not surprised when Gojo’s sordid smirk returns. 

“But you are not only a messenger for The Lord… isn’t that right, Father Kento?” 

Father Kento warily clutches onto the large cross dangling from the rosary around his neck as Gojo continues.

“I’ll need you to spread mine as well. Haven’t you heard? I have plans to run for Mayor.”

Mayor.

The diabolical fiend truly knew no limits in his quest for control over the town. 

“I’ll need you to come over to dinner tonight to consult with the rest of my top supporters.”

Father Kento steeled himself.. 

There was nothing he could do to stop Satoru Gojo from being mayor but his infatuation with you aside, he could not walk straight into the lion's den to collude with heathens. 

It would be the final nail in his coffin, Gojo would indeed own his soul.

“Oh! Y/N is prepping a feast too… aren’t you, angel?” 

Gojo’s grip on your waist trails lower to palm the fat of your ass and you clutch on to him tighter as you nod eagerly in agreement, biting your lip as his large hands knead into your cheeks through your wispy dress. 

Your body is ever responsive to Gojo’s touch just like he trained you to be.

“I must refuse. I have duties here to attend, I couldn’t poss–”

“P-Please F-Father…”

And just like that your delicate voice cuts through his iron defenses like it were warm butter.

“…K-Kento, p-please come!”

Your request fumbles out of your lips as a cry as Gojo’s devilish fingers dip past your ass to prod at your cunt.

“You heard her Father. She wants you to come. Break bread with us, you will be among friends. Friends who know how to share, yeah? I’ll even share a piece of her cream pie for dessert.” 

That had been the final straw. Gojo had gone too far this time.

You seeking him out was one matter but he would not allow Satoru Gojo of all people to dangle you in front of him like a master would dangle a treat to a dog.

“Begone, you foul heretic. I will not tolerate your mockery of me, this church nor God any longer.”

Commanding in his tone, Father Kento extends the cross of the rosary forward to Gojo as if he were casting a malevolent curse back down to hell. 

Father Kento doesn’t have the courage to look at you though, he can’t. Not if he wants to take a triumphant stand against Satoru Gojo.

And so Father Kento closes his eyes and silently prays. 

Immediately bored at such a devout display, Gojo sighs rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, Father. I get it. Whatever you say, jeez. It’s not like I need your support to become mayor– just thought it would be nice is all. ”

Father Kento remains silent as he listens to both of your footsteps exit the church but not before Gojo stops at the doors, his cheerful voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Heh, you know, not everyone in this town is as pious as you Father. Sheriff Fushiguro has never been one to turn down a stack of bills but I’m sure tonight he would enjoy sharing in Y/N’s creampie if you don’t.”

Father Kento’s eyes open to flash red with fury.

Having received a satisfactory enough reaction from the priest, Gojo grins wildly as your own eyes widen in shock at your husband’s words. 

Has Gojo only ever used you to manipulate him alone? 

The thought remains as Father Kento doesn’t miss the pleading gaze directed at him from over your shoulder as you are led out of the church.

Goddammit– He couldn’t let you fall into the brutish clutches of Toji Fushiguro. 

Toji may have been the sheriff but he was well-known for his oafish demeanor and greasy womanizing ways. 

NO! He mustn’t think of you any longer. 

Father Kento needs to clear his mind of you for good with prayer.

Prayer and solitude.

Deep prayer and extensive solitude was what he needed if he ever hoped to rise again to gain God’s favor. He needed to call upon The Lord’s strength one last time to remain at the parish tonight and defy Gojo’s will.

Father Kento couldn’t let the pleasures of flesh continue to manipulate the very fibers of his being in such a way. 

The rosary still in his grasp Father Kento raises his hands close in prayer as a final call for God’s mercy… and then it hits him– wafting off his fingers, overwhelming his senses and igniting every nerve in his being. 

The scent of your cunt. 

The lingering perfume of your sinful drippings spilled on your husband’s hand during mass had been transferred to his own when Gojo shook his hand and held it so firmly.

The bastard. 

The rush hits him hard and he feels dizzy as his ears begin to ring. Vertigo overtakes Father Kento as he holds the offending hand out as if he had been poisoned. 

Leaning back against a wall to gather himself, Father Kento realizes once the manic pounding coursing through his veins begins throbbing in his loins that he’s fated for damnation.

This is the moment he’d always dreaded although ironic with the simple acceptance of it he feels no despair. 

Father Kento’s conviction is finally clear as he is left with a singular truth that rang through his entire soul:

Whatever solace he would know, whatever peace he would have in this life, he would only find with his cock buried in the sweet embrace of your cunt. 

✟

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✟ the closing rites: (a/n) hell is hot and it's surely my destination after writing this. i tried to leave it a little ambiguous to whether y/n is actually in-love with nanami or just a sex-crazed slut eager to use him at the request of her husband. i don't have a pt.2 planned just fyi as this is meant to be a oneshot. although i do need to write more nanami so i will take requests for him! but fair warning i am very slow i apologize.

also shout out to the amazing art i used for the gfx ✟ art by mishwell

✟ REBLOG to be unburdened of your sins by Father Nanami but likes and comments are also appreciated!

upcoming: the nursery (yakuza!toji), please teach me! (ceo!gojo), request: teasing choso (college au), request: sukuna x blkreader, [none in any order as im at the mercy of my adhd lol]

[celestialtarot11]

Future Spouse PAC—

Hi friends! Highly requested—a future pick a spouse reading. I appreciate all of you for being here <3 please like, comment and reblog to help this blog grow! Your presence means the world. It’s also 11:11 as I type this so for anyone who needs this here you go.

Pile 1: Hi there pile 1! Hope all is well in your world. For you I see a lot of prominence in your future spouse. They are physically well dressed, put together and appear luxurious. They can invest in quality brands and wear clothing that makes them feel good. I’m seeing someone wear a long tail coat and it emphasizes their height, because it’s slender and yet angular. This person has a great sense of fashion! I heard fashion icon. Some people may look to your future spouse for inspiration, and I heard designer. So perhaps they work closely with others in a artistic sense! They could be a Leo, Taurus or Capricorn. This is also someone who is generous with their energy and resources so if someone needs help they will offer it! Humble, has humility and carries themselves well. I have a feeling this is someone slightly older than you! They could have a pet as well, maybe a parrot for someone or a budgie. Cute! But back to their generosity I feel they give back to their community a lot, and may donate, raise funds for charity! There’s this soothing angelicness to them which people are drawn to, and their smile is also soft and beautiful! It’s something you’ll really like! I also see boyish rugged features for those who are interested in men. And for women I see chubby cheeks, fuller lips and lighter eyes! Your person can be on the taller side :) As for their hobbies may include hiking, skiing, camping! They may go with family as well. They could also be into religious studies like studying different religions, cultures and traditions. They may not necessarily be religious, but study the bible or Quran for example. They just love to learn. Thank you pile 1 for being here! Means a lot to me. Hope you like comment and reblog <3

Pile 2: Hi there pile 2! Haha for you I got a very elusive slippery energy from your future spouse. I feel as though in their younger years they were really hot. They were a know it all. They were charming, devious and funny. And they still are! They’ve certainly still got it going. I do feel as though when you meet them you might pick up on those traits from their past and stay away—but this person has identified that they want a deeper commitment here with you. They have grown a lot and instead of chasing cat and mouse, they are confident in attracting the right person. They don’t want games anymore, I’m hearing they don’t have time for it. So your person could be very busy and on the go often, like traveling to other states or places for work. It requires them to constantly be moving. I feel as though there is an element of long distance here but not necessarily forever! They can be foreign, as well. Different culture, values, traditions. But I think this’ll draw them in even more to you and vice versa. I feel this person has worked their way up to developing self respect and esteem, so they may be a bit intimidating at first. I see honey blonde hair, fair to tan skin, and tall figure. They can have toned figures and look as if they work out. They may be into sports of some kind that challenges their body. They need to get that energy out, i feel as though they’re like electricity, constantly sparking and looking to connect to a source. They can be scattered and flighty because their job is demanding of them, but they mean well. They’re funny, confident, boisterous, and charming! Very smooth with their word so expect them to charm your pants off ;) They may have black hair and keep it neatly trimmed! For men I see a neat beard and it isn’t long, it’s not a stubble either. It defines their face very well and I feel they have intense eyes. For women I see brown hair, thinner lips and green eyes! Or just lighter eyes in general. I feel they’re known as muscle mommy 😭 because their body is toned. Thank you pile 2 for being here! Any likes comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Pile 3: Okay right away pile 3 Electric by Alina Baraz began to play! Lol hope your day has been well. I feel as though this person is intense, stern and firm at first. I heard CEO. What kind of wattpad love story is this? Lmfao im hooked. Anyway, this person could have a higher position in your job and I do feel how you meet is they help you out. They may offer you a position, or talk to you, and somehow it slips out that you’re struggling. Im seeing two people meet for coffee in the lounge room and hitting it off, and its unexpected. I feel you two may expect a purely professional relationship but no—this is something deeper. There’s this feeling of intimacy and closeness with you two, like you two saw each other a long time ago and now you’re meeting again. Very familiar and comforting. Feels like 4h synastry! I love that. I do feel as though your future spouse is a provider and doesn’t mind if you want to take the reigns in bed too ;) they are skilled I should mention. I also feel they are someone who tries to understand what their emotions are and what its telling them. So you can help them, maybe you understand emotional processing better and can guide them. They’ll guide you through the material world and offer insights, and help you feel stable financially. I almost feel as though you’re the spiritual one and they are in touch with the material realm. So they are stunned when they hear of your spiritual journey and not only that but attracted. They feel tempted by what they don’t understand. Speaking of temptation—theres a lot. Psychologically it’s tempting to fall into old patterns and I feel as though this connection is helping you release that, but also intimately the temptation is there! Very strong. “Darker than the ocean, deeper than the sea.” I keep hearing that from the song and it describes the depth of your connection when you two meet. I also hear, “touch me, your electric baby.” So you two will definitely feel it. Its unmistakable! A little work romance never hurt anyone LOL that’s what I heard. Someone is saying it like a hushed whisper so I feel ya’ll will physically get closer to talk to one another—it’s an unconscious action yet so intimate. There’s a lot of unspoken tension here between you two. Anyways pile 3 enjoy <3 I hope this helped you! And please don’t forget to like comment and reblog to share the love.

Extra

Paid readings 🤍

[laligraves]

say you're sorry

priest!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2k summary: You ask Father Miller for forgiveness. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, mean!Joel, power imbalance (since Joel is a priest), some proofreading, reader has hair that Joel can grab, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, daddy kink, references to catholicism, oral (m! receiving), some gagging, spanking, lap sitting/riding, unprotected sex, creampie, some very light cum eating

a/n: this is a different priest joel and a different reader from my other priest fic :)

His office is big, airy, smelling of incense and cologne. Theology books and bibles in a few different languages are organized on the wooden shelves. A cross complete with a sorrowful looking Jesus hangs on the wall behind his desk. 

“These figs are divine,” Father Miller groans, “your mother gave me some cuttins’ but I’ve never been able to grow a tree myself.” 

He bites into the fruit and moans at the splash of sweet juice that soaks his tongue. 

“Here, take a bite,” he offers. 

His hands tighten in your hair and he pulls your mouth away from his spit-covered cock. You whimper at the loss but he shushes you with a stern bite, and you quickly comply.  

“Reminds me of somethin’ else that’s sweet,” he whispers as he watches your throat move in a swallow. 

“Please, daddy,” you moan, “I wasn’t done.” 

Father Miller gives you a soft pat on your cheek, trailing his fingers down to tug at the rosary that hangs between your breasts, before pushing your head back onto his cock. 

He spreads his knees wider in his desk chair. 

“What a beautiful way to ask for forgiveness. Figs and your mouth on my cock.” 

If his big dick wasn’t in your mouth, you’d cringe from embarrassment. Your own selfish and jealous actions led to his disappointment and your need to ask for forgiveness. 

“Envy is a sin. You choose to have these emotions and these moments of insecurities,” Father Miller murmurs in that tone that makes you squeeze your thighs. 

“When those thoughts begin, it’s your responsibility to come to confession. You have to talk to me so I can help.”

Father Miller does it again, yanking you back from his cock and tilting up your chin with his finger.

“Did you hear what I just said?” 

“Ye–yes–” 

“Repeat it to me,” he interrupts. 

“I need to–to ask you for help when I’m feeling jealous,” you choke out. 

His hand tightens in your hair and he pushes himself deeper into your mouth. You gag, tears pooling on your waterline from the burn in your throat. 

“Good girl.” 

You want to run your hands down his strong thighs and feel the clench of his muscles, but they’re bound behind your back with your soaked panties. Aside from the rosary, the panties around your wrists are the only clothes you wear. 

You massage your tongue on the thick vein that spans underneath his cock. Spit dribbles down your chin as he begins to move your head up and down. 

“Fuck, just like that, honey,” he groans. “Got such a perfect mouth.”

You moan at the praise. Honey, the name he’s reserved just for you. Even at bible study on Wednesdays and at Mass on Sundays, he’ll call you honey, no matter who's around. 

“Those other women who come here, they seek advice. I can’t turn them away.” 

You let the tears fall from your eyes, partly from the cock spearing down your throat and also from the fact that he’s right. It’s his responsibility to listen to his congregation. 

Even if you know the women stare at him with dreamy eyes and fantasize about his broad shoulders, Father Miller must give them individual attention. 

He clenches his teeth the moment your nose hits the curly hair at his base. You swallow and fight through the burn, sucking at the salty taste of his skin. You clench your thighs again, hoping for any type of stimulation. 

“Aww,” he coos, “what does my poor little sinner need?” 

You whimper on his cock, wanting to move your head away so you can tell him how much you want him, but his hand keeps you in place.

“Nothin’ to say?” he mocks, “You don’t want me to eat your little cunt, honey? Make you cum on my tongue? Just want to keep suckin’ daddy’s cock?” 

Slick drips from your pussy. Mean, mean, mean, you chant in your head. You’re sure you look like a pathetic mess; shivering and crying hard enough to ruin your makeup. 

Father Miller laughs and wipes the tears from your eyes. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” 

You’re roughly pushed off, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his dick. You continue to sob as he yanks you up by your arms and bends you over his desk.  

“I said enough,” he snaps, landing a hard spank to your ass. “I won’t repeat myself.” 

Your shiver as your tits make contact with the cool surface of the desk. The rosary presses to your chest, indenting the soft skin.

“Such a beautiful cunt for a sinner,” he whispers. 

His hands massage your ass and he pulls apart your cheeks to stare at the puffy mess between your thighs. You try to move out of his grasp, embarrassed at how he can see every delicate inch of you, but he spanks you again. 

“Can’t seem to stay still,” he growls, “after everythin’ you’ve done, you still wanna disappoint me?” 

“N–no, daddy. I’m sorry, I’ll–I’ll stay still.” 

His leather shoe pushes on your ankle and you spread your thighs wide. He runs the tip of his length up your slit, ghosting over your sensitive button. You push your hips back and try to sink onto his cock, but he presses down on your lower back to keep you still. 

“Little sinner,” Father Miller scolds, “instead of trusting me, you accuse me of sleeping with other women. After the oath I gave to this church?” 

“I was wrong! I’m sorry,” you cry, hot tears rolling down and landing on the desk. 

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll help you repent. Count f’me.” 

He moves slightly to the side and uses a large hand to spank you hard on your right cheek. You yelp, immediately choking out a one before feeling his hand massage your other. 

You push up on your tiptoes, presenting your ass to him, hungry for his touch. He starts off soft, slow, squeezing the plump curve of your ass. His palm lands harsher and you welcome the sting of each slap, pushing back into him, heart beating faster with each number. 

Once he gets to fifteen, he lands it right on your pussy. You push up on the desk in surprise and try to beg for more, daddy, please–I’m so close. 

“No more, baby,” he coos, “did so well with your spankin’.” 

“Please, daddy,” you whimper, “please give me your cock. Please fuck me.” 

His hand tugs on your hair and he makes you stand to your full height. 

“This is punishment, honey,” he whispers in your ear, “you’re gonna have to work for my forgiveness.” 

You’re not sure what else he could possibly make you do but he spins you around and you watch as he sits down in his desk chair. 

“C’mere,” he growls. 

His hands wrap around your waist and you're pulled into his lap. You’re unbalanced, still unable to use your hands but he reaches around you to keep you steady.

With his other hand, he teases the fat tip to your entrance.

“You’re gonna ride me. Maybe after I’ll forgive ya’.” 

“Yes, yes,” you chant, slowly sinking down on his cock. 

His strong hands slide to grip your waist and his fingers dig into your soft skin. You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling with blurry eyes, your teeth digging into your bottom lip with each inch that’s stuffed inside of you. 

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs, “take my cock, take it.” 

You can’t speak, can’t ask for more from your daddy. The angle is new, something you two have never tried before, a stretch that makes you dizzy and the air in your throat stutter. 

He helps you with the last few inches, praising you for having such a perfect cunt, feel so good wrapped around me–made just for me, honey. 

Father Miller gives you time to adjust, kissing your chin, nipping your neck, running his lips over the rosary that sways between your breasts. 

His tongue lashes over your nipples and he sucks as much of your tit as he can get, into his mouth. He’s mean, leaving indents of his teeth on your skin. It’s exactly what you want–what you need. 

He knows right when it’ll become too rough, too much for you, and he’ll kiss, swipe his tongue over the hurt, rain praises on your skin. 

The both of you fit awkwardly on the big chair but you make it work, digging your knees into the leather and bracketing his thighs to grind slowly in his lap.

“Look so pretty on my cock, honey.” 

He’s taken you from behind, bent over his desk with your hands clawing at the wood. He’s taken you in the tiny confessional, your body folded in half while he stares into your eyes as he finishes inside of you. 

Not like this, though. Not with your hands behind your back and his on your waist, helping you bounce and grind on him. 

You tremble in his hold, feel each kiss of his fat cockhead to the syrupy end of you. 

“Ne–need to c–cum,” you choke out, remembering you can use more than just whines and whimpers to talk. 

His cheeks are red, his hair is in disarray, and you notice sweat on his neck, peppering along his clerical collar. His thighs shift underneath you and he plants his feet more firmly on the ground. 

“Wantcha’ to cum on my cock,” he demands. 

Father Miller uses you like a toy, moving your body how he wants it, burning the memory of his cock into your pussy. His lips find yours in a sloppy kiss when you tilt forward, almost falling from how fast he’s using you. 

He’s so big, buried deep in your pussy, splitting you open. Your clit brushes on the curly hair at his base with each rock of his hips and you're there–cumming on Father Miller’s cock, opening your mouth in a silent scream while you shake in his hold. 

You soak his cock and the front of his dress pants with your slick. He’s groaning at each pulse and flutter of your pussy. Take it so well, honey he murmurs around your nipple. Milkin' my cock, baby. 

He moves you up once, twice, and keeps you pressed to him, spilling his seed in your cunt. Without even trying it knocks another orgasm from you, just as you were coming down from the first. 

Father Miller bites at your mouth, bringing up his hand to squeeze your neck and accept his kisses. His cock twitches slightly inside of you as he spills, marking you deep. 

He yanks off your panties and you immediately move your hands into his hair, tugging through the strands and pressing your body even closer to his. Your breathless, shivering in his hold from the two orgasms that were shocked out of your body. 

Just as quickly as it happens, he pushes you off of his lap. You land in a limp heap on the floor, eye level to his soaked cock. It’s covered in the both of you. 

“Give it a kiss, and say you’re sorry.” 

You happily follow his command, pressing a kiss to the tip, licking away the stickiness from your lips and give him a I’m so sorry, daddy. 

He smiles at you before reaching to take the rosary off from your neck and placing it in your hands. You stare up in confusion and watch as he rises to his full height. 

“Now, I want you to kneel here,” he says, grabbing you by your upper arm and dragging your naked body right in front of the cross, “and do two Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.” 

Your thighs shake from the exertion but you do as he says and kneel in perfect form. You bow your head in prayer and begin, hearing him zip up his dress pants and walk out of his office. His cum slowly drips out of your swollen pussy and onto the hardwood floor. 

[latenightdaydreams]

Family Planning (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List✍🏽

Part 2

>cw: fem/afab, pregnancy, cucking, p in v, religion, priest König

2.1k word count

⛪

.

.

You’ve been married to your husband, Lucas, for four years now. Both of you are high school sweethearts. You never thought you’d have to seek counseling for the relationship. You nervously twiddle your thumbs as you sit outside your priest’s office, sitting next to your husband. Finally, the door opens and König’s eyes land on the two of you.

“Please, come in.” He stands at the door, waiting for you both to enter before he closes the door behind him. Once he sits down, he leans forward with a polite smile across his thin lips. “Mr. and Mrs. Altman. What brings you to me?”

There is a heavy tension in the room as you gaze over to Lucas. He sits with a finger pressing against his temple as he rests his arm on the armrest. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to talk about this.

“Well, it’s…we’ve been having some issues lately.” You speak carefully, trying to not offend your husband. 

“What issues?” König gives a concerned look to your husband.

“Well, we’ve been trying to get pregnant for the last four years and nothing. I went to the doctor, and everything was fine with me…” You stop talking and drop your head down, knowing the topic upsets your husband.

“So, that means it’s you that can’t get her pregnant?” His eyes lock with your husbands.

“Yes…”

“And that makes you feel…” König was trying to get him to admit his feelings.

“Worthless.” Lucas says in a low voice. “As if I’m not a man.” You rest your hand on your husband's legs and rub it in a supporting way. 

“We’ve always wanted a family. Since we met as teens, we’ve planned on having kids. The issue is not only his sperm, but to have a child, it would be through unnatural means.”

König watches the shape of your mouth as you speak. He nods his head occasionally to make sure you know he is listening to you.           Once you finish explaining your moral stance against IVF, he finally speaks.

“It seems almost cruel that God would give such a strong, devoted couple as yourselves such a heavy cross to bear.” His blue eyes gaze into yours as he speaks. “I also agree, IVF is unnatural and goes against God's word. The Lord sees how you’ve both struggled, yet never even up on one another.”

Tears creep up in your eyes as Father validates every feeling you’ve had along your way so far. Instead of judgment, he is listening with care. 

“But have you considered… other options?”

“Like adoption?” Lucas asks.

“Hm, no. Just a simple sperm donation.” König leans back in his desk chair, his fingertips touching as he studies both of your reactions.

“But having seed spilled by a contraption…it isn’t of God.” Lucas speaks softly. He knows you’d have the beautiful family you have always dreamed of if it weren’t for him. Guilt floods his body.

“Not with any medical intervention.”

“Then…how?”

“I can offer you my seed, to impregnate you.” König says boldly.

“Excuse me?” There is a bit of anger in Lucas’s tone.

“Please do not misunderstand me. I am a man of God. I’ve given up all pleasures in life. I’m simply the vessel put here by the Lord to give you the family you both desire. Like God impregnated Mary, but Joseph raised Jesus as his own.”

You sit staring at Father König with your mouth slightly ajar. Like God did with Mary and Joseph… Those words you kept repeating in your head, and the more it started to make sense.

“But that’s adultery.” Lucas snapped.

“God let men impregnate another woman in the bible when their woman was barren. I don’t see the difference here. No romance, just God’s gift.” He smiles at the both of you, impressed with how gullible you both seem to be. 

“He has a point, honey.” Your hand continues to caress Lucas’s leg.

He looks into your eyes for a while, a heavy gaze of guilt on his own. Is he really about to allow his Priest to sleep with his wife? That would be crazy, right? It would result in a pregnancy, and you’ll be able to start the family you’ve always wanted. Both he and Father König are blonde blue eyed me, so it wouldn’t be too hard to hide.

“I- can we think about this?” You can hear the buildup of emotions in his voice.

“Of course, take all the time you need.” König suppresses a small smirk. 

Everyone stands and you go home with Lucas. The night you both stay all talking, arguing, crying, laughing; just every emotion hitting at once. This is a conversation you never saw yourselves having. All you’ve ever wanted is to be a mother, and now God has given you an answer.

.

.

You arrive outside of Father König’s home, fingers intertwined with Lucas’s. He hesitates before his knocks on the door finally. A few seconds later, König opens it, greeting you both with a warm smile. He is wearing his black pants and shirt with a Priest collar on.

“Bitte kommen Sie herein.” König steps aside to let you and Lucas come inside. 

The home is simple with crosses and imagery of Jesus and the Virgin Mary hanging on the walls. You both linger awkwardly, thumbs caressing one another’s hand. König closes and locks the door.

“Shall we.” He gestures for the both of you to follow him down a long hall. 

Turning into the last door on the left, he welcomes you in. There is a large king size bed with gray sheets and a blue comforter. A simple wooden cross with a bloody Jesus on the wall behind the bed. Your eyes linger on it for a while before turning your gaze towards Lucas. He is looking at the bed with a dejected look in his eyes. A heavy tension lingers in the air. 

“Y/n, you should undress.” König’s Austrian accent is smooth.

You nod and kick your shoes off before pulling off your sweater. Lucas took it for you, his eyes looking over your body as you slowly peeled away each layer. Both trying to avoid Father's gaze and only focus on each other. Once stripped of all your clothing, Lucas slips his hand back into yours. “You’ll be okay…” He whispers to you, pressing his lips to your forehead.

König takes your hand from your husbands, his icy blue eyes gazing down into yours. He walks to the bed, lifting you and gently laying you in the center of the bed. 

“Lucas, sit at the head of the bed. It’s important that you’re a part of this too.”

Lucas slowly kicks his shoes off and walks to the bed, pulling the pillows aside and sitting. His hands caress your hair, trying to ignore Father touching you. Ignoring how his hands ran up your legs, caressing the supple flesh of your thighs.

You tried hard to ignore Father's touch, but your body was responding positively. He climbs on top of you, his weight sinking you into the bed. Timid warm kisses trailing up your abdomen to your breasts. 

“Is all of this…necessary?” Lucas's voice cracks.

“Ja,” he continues to kiss over your breasts, lightly sucking on your perky nipples. “Her body needs to be relaxed to accept my seed.”

Lucas huffs, rolling his eyes. König ignores him, moving his lips to kiss up your neck, slowly making his way to your lips. He lightly bit your bottom lip before pressing his lips fully against yours. His knee sliding between your legs, rubbing it against your clit. You whimper slightly as his tongue circles yours.

“You like that, Liebling?” He licks your lips before kissing you passionately. 

Lucas stares at a wall as this is going on. He can feel his cock become slightly erect, but he tries to ignore it. He doesn’t want to get aroused watching a man take his wife. He’s her one and only- at least that’s how it was always supposed to be.

“Let’s see how wet you are for Father…” König says as he leans back. On his black pant leg there is a white wet streak. He smirks and looks at you. “Perfekt.”

Your eyes gaze up at Lucas, a bit of shame in your gaze for becoming so aroused. König grabs your hips and scoots you closer to him. Your legs spread open in front of him as he undoes his pants. He pulls his enormous cock out, his hand grasping it at the base.

Lucas' eyes go wide, looking at König’s penis. A wave of jealousy, insecurity, and shame rushes over him. How would you feel about him after you’ve been with Father? Can he compare? Will he ever be able to please you again? He is quickly snapped out of his thoughts as Father speaks.

“Are you ready, y/n?”

“Yes.” You said quickly, almost too quickly for Lucas’s liking.

“Look at me, Liebling.” König grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. His eyes watching you closely as he slips his cock into you. He watches the way your breathing shutters and your eyebrows pinch together. 

His hand moves from your jaw to your hips, grabbing your legs and spreading them wide apart. With each roll of his hips, you let out a pathetic little mewl. You’re trying your hardest to not give into the pleasure, you’re here to procreate, not have sex.

Lucas notices the way your face contorts with euphoria as König’s big cock fucks you. His cock rock hard in his own pants. He can’t help but to keep his eyes glued to your tiny little cunt struggling to accept König. The way your creamy cum covers his cock. You’re loving this and it kills him.

“Father…” The words slip your lips before you realize you’re moaning his name. Your eyes instantly shoot up to Lucas. An orgasm is building up but you try to fight it. Mouth hanging open, you let out a loud moan as König begins to buck into you faster.

“Cum for me.” König drops one leg and reaches out to squeeze your left breast. 

As you gaze at Lucas your body trembles under König, the sound of your wet cunt getting louder as you cum on his cock.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well.” König leans over and begins to kiss you passionately, stealing your attention back to him. “Your pussy gets so wet for Father.” His whispers kissing down your jaw. 

König pulls out, his large hands grasping your body and turning you over. You get on all fours, facing Lucas. He comes up behind you and slips his cock back into you without words. His hands squeeze the fat on your ass, spanking you to see the jiggle. Lucas glares at him, this is sex for pleasure for Father. His glare does not go unnoticed. 

“I’m close to giving you my seed Liebling…” König’s deep sensual voice now strained from the feelings of your tiny cunt sucking him in. “Lucas, please pray.”

“Pray?” He sounds shocked.

“For me to cum in your wife. For me to impregnate her.”

Your fingers are grabbing beat sheets as you look at Lucas. Babbling words as he thrust his cock even deeper into you. König grabs a fist full of your hair, holding your head up so Lucas has to see the way he is turning his wife into nothing but a stupid little sex doll.

“Please Lord, hear my prayers. Please let Father König’s seed be successful and fruitful.” Lucas looks at you with a slight bit of disgust. His sweet Catholic wife would never be enjoying fornication with another man this much. This was all a mistake.

“Say you want my cum!”

“Please, please cum in me! Please God! Please fill me!” Your voice is so enthusiastic, you’ve never acted like this for Lucas before.

“Ah, Ja!” König stops moving and pushes his cock deep into you. Your eyes roll back and Lucus turns his head to not see the finale play out.

König leans forward and kisses down your neck, biting you so hard he leaves a mark. He rests his body over yours, panting slightly.

.

.

Fully dressed you all stand by the door. You’re glowing. A huge smile on your face as you gaze at Father König with dreamy eyes. König reaches out and caresses your bottom lip with his thumb. Lucas stands there with a defeated look on his face, slightly dissociated in this moment as his mind tries to process what he witnessed.

“If this isn’t successful, my door is always open.” König grins at Lucas as he opens the door for you both.

Part 2

[jhoneybees]

The Dark.

A little bedtime fic🥹

Characters: late!70s X little!reader

Warnings/triggers: Age regression, little!space, the dark, anxious scary thoughts, monsters

_____________________________________________

Ever since you told Elvis about your age regression, he hasn’t been anything but loving and caring towards you. He would give you so many gifts and toys and ask you so many questions about how he can help you feel comfortable in your headspace and you can't help but fall in love with him all over again.

He said that he wants to make sure you're feeling safe and happy at all times while you're little and to help that, he asked you about what things you like and don't like.

You told him everything, one of those things being you don't like the dark.

Everything about it just scares you, anywhere where everything is pitch black you would run away from. You just can’t stand the thought of not knowing what's in that darkness and whenever you're sleeping at night with Elvis, he would usually turn all the lights off in his bedroom including the bathroom which you would often feel nervous about but his arms around you, keeping you safe from the scary monsters takes a little bit of weight off that fear.

“Alright, we better get some beauty sleep now, baby.”

Looking up at Elvis from where you're laying, playing with your toy bunny, you hum quietly as he puts a bookmark in his bible and places it on his bedside.

“C’mere…” Elvis tells you, holding his arm out while he lays himself down. Playfully squeezing you tightly in his embrace with a chuckle, earning a soft giggle from you.

He kisses your forehead and then turns his body to turn the lamp off. You both snuggle closer when he wiggles to get comfortable and you bury your head in his chest wanting to feel as small as possible… then those scary thoughts come into your head and your heartbeat begins to quicken.

Curling your legs closer to your chest, you shuffle closer to Elvis. Holding your breath hoping you won’t annoy him, you squeeze your eyes shut and grip onto his pyjama shirt.

You try your best to stop thinking of those thoughts but it’s too difficult. Your mind just keeps drifting to your imagination of a scary creature looming over you with its claws out and big empty white eyes staring down at you.

You know Elvis wouldn’t let anything hurt you but you can’t help clinging yourself onto him out of fear.

“Honey?” A familiar warm voice calls out.

You feel Elvis’ hand drift down to your hip and pull his head away from on top of your head, you flutter your eyes open and look up to see his sleepy face, just barely.

The bed moves a little and you squint your eyes with a sigh of relief when a warm orange light floods into the room.

“Are you a’right?” Elvis asks in his southern drawl, gently cupping your cheek in his large hand darting his worried light blue eyes all over your face.

You gulp and shake your head, nuzzling your cheek into his hand. “S-scared of the dark, daddy…”

Elvis coos and nods, pulling you in for a comforting hug before giving you a smile, a smile that tells you he’s got something. “Jus’ wait ‘ere, ok?” he murmurs.

Sitting yourself up in the big fluffy lump of blankets, you blink watching Elvis walk in and out of the walk-in closet. Tilting your head seeing a little pretty pink ceramic house in his hands and you frown slightly as Elvis places it on the wooden dresser facing the foot of the bed bending over with a small grunt to put a plug in the wall.

He moves back towards you, grabbing his flashlight off his nightstand and switching his lamp off again, you hide your face a little behind the blanket.

Then a few moments later, that similar soft orange light lights up the room. Your eyes twinkle staring at the lit up ceramic house, shining beautifully in the darkness. He got you a night light.

“Ya like it, baby?”

You nod slowly. Lips parted in awe, you flick your gaze over to Elvis who's walking back to the bed putting his flashlight away with a proud smile on his face. “I love it.” You answer just above a whisper.

“I’m glad.” He gets back into bed, patting his chest with a loving “C’mere, angel.” guiding your head to rest on his collarbone.

You wrap your arm over his belly and swing your leg over his, eyes fluttering a little as he starts to stroke your hair, calmly staring at the night light. You smile slightly at his words. “The light will keep the monsters away.”

He pecks your forehead once more.

“If not…Daddy’s gonna beat ‘em up.” making you giggle.

[xanqels]

For I Have Sinned.

DarkCorruptedPriest!Joel Miller x Innocent!Reader

Summary: Father Miller sets eyes on you, and decides then and there that you are to be ruined by him.

Parings: joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: SMUT!!! No outbreak au! reader is a virgin and very naive, loss of innocence, corruption kink (he’s into taking her vcard), blackmail, dubcon, virginity loss, fingering, slight humiliation(?), bit of mocking, pet names (darlin’, baby, sweet girl etc), dirty talk, using the lords name in vain, unprotected piv (wrap before you tap), power imbalance, oral (f receiving), age gap (reader is mid to late 20s, Joel is late 50s), Joel is an asshole in this, mentions of god/the bible/sinning. Conclusion: Joel should not be a priest. if there’s any i’ve misses please let me know.

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: I would like to thank @chloeangelic for inspiring me to write this and also giving me some encouragement, and I’d also like to thank @toxicanonymity for inspiring me to write dark!joel and creating the joelkemon universe. Also I do apologise if the timing of the story is a bit everywhere, this is my first fanfic!! any and all criticism is welcome with open arms.

————————————————————————

He still remembers the first day he met you.

You and your family had brought him a pie, a cherry one. They wanted to welcome him, congratulate him for becoming the new priest in their humble town. A sweet gesture from such a perfectly sweet girl and her devout family.

He remembered your face, he could draw it from memory if he wanted to - if he could draw, that was. The perfect mix of beauty, grace and innocence stood before him that very day and he was hooked. Hooked on your gaze, your smile, your scent, but most of all, your innocence and blind naivety to the world.

He knew then and there, that you were his to ruin.

Every Sunday from then on, his eyes were stuck on you, what you were wearing, the way your cheeks flushed when your eyes met his. Everything about you was mere perfection. A sight of innocence, of naivety that he couldn’t wait to take hold of and ruin for every other man.

He wanted his name to be the last thing on your lips at night, and the first thing to be spoken in the morning. He wanted to curse your mind with images of him, to make you worship him instead of God. And so, in his mind he curated the perfect plan to get you alone.

“Go forth, knowing that you are cherished,” His voice, a deep texan accent, talking to the congregation, “chosen and empowered by the Creator of the Universe.” But why did it feel as though he was talking to purely you? His words, so enchanting you lingered on every line he spoke. His sermons were fresh, new and slightly modern. A stark contrast from Father Rafferty’s sermons.

“May his grace be upon you. Now and forevermore.” He looks up, eyes scanning the room before landing on yours. Dark brown iris’ peering into your soul, as you feel your cheeks flush. He likes the way your cheeks blush when you look at him. You want him. You need him, he tells himself. “Amen.” He states as you look away, the rest of the congregation, including yourself muttering a simple ‘Amen.’

As you and your family stand up in preparation to leave, Father Miller approaches you, a wide smile on his lips with his Bible and rosary beads in hand. “Mr and Mrs Spencer.” He says, shaking your fathers hand. “How lovely it is to see you again.”

“Well, Father, we could never miss one of your services.” Your mother speaks as you look idly at the floor, eyes tracing over the darkened, dented wood from where people have walked over time. You tune out the conversation, feeling ashamed for dropping Father Millers eyes earlier, and feeling so stupid for blushing.

“Won’t you, honey?” Your fathers voice snaps you out from your thoughts, eyes wide as you look between the three of them. “Pardon?” You ask, heart thumping in your chest.

“Father Miller wants you to help him decorate the church for Easter Sunday. There’ll be plenty of other people there. I think it’d be an excellent idea.” Your father says, as your eyes dart to Father Millers. He smiles, a sweet smile. A comforting, pleasant smile which puts you at ease. Those dark chocolate brown eyes, soft and kind.

You nod, and he clasped his hands together in glee. “Well, perfect. It’ll take a little while, but there’ll be plenty of breaks and we’ll provide food. Hopefully you don’t mind me keeping your daughter occupied for the entire day.” Father Miller says, and your parents don’t seem to mind. Just as long as you’re being the perfect catholic girl you’ve always been. Just as long as you’re kept out of trouble, and as long as you help Father Miller with whatever he needs.

A devout catholic you were. Born and baptised, risen in a strong catholic household and desperate to please the priest. You’d do anything he’d say or ask, as long as it wasn’t a sin, and Joel knew that. He knew how desperate you were to please someone so close to God, his messenger, how you itched to be as pure and holy as one could be. He knew he’d got you wrapped around his little finger

And so, the plan was set in motion. And at 11am on the following Thursday, you were there at the church doors, pushing the solid oak open as you walk into the dim room, the only form of light being the candles Father Miller had lit and the sun shining through the stained-glass windows.

Expecting to be met with various murmurs and fellow church-goers, you find the place empty. Completely deserted, almost, until your eyes lay on him. Tall, stoic and his gaze piercing at you, taking you in. Your small frame, your long white dress, the way your hair lay against your shoulders. The image of innocence.

He smiles, that same sweet smile that he gave you the previous Sunday. “You made it.” He says, walking towards you with his arms out, almost as though he was going to envelope you in a hug.

But he didn’t. He clasped his hands together, rubbing his palms together. “Father Miller.” You exhale softly, eyes scoping the otherwise empty church. “I thought we were all meeting here at eleven. Where is everyone?” You ask, twirling a strand of long hair around your index finger.

He shrugs. “‘m afraid I don’t know. I did invite them.” He says, lying through his teeth. You wouldn’t know that, of course. Too naive to think any differently, to even have a thought that Father Miller may just lie to you. Truth is, he didn’t invite anyone else. Not a single soul. It was only you and him.

You frown, clearly unhappy with the way no one else seemed to turn up but you. The way they so blatantly chose to ignore Father Miller’s need for help. “But you asked for help, surely they should’ve come.”

“Perhaps they got busy.” He lies, looking around the church, eyes glaring at the empty walls. “Anyways, this place won’t decorate itself.” He grins, turning and walking towards the back, hand gesturing for you to follow.

And you do, obediently. Into the back room of the church, full of foldable tables and chairs, boxes of decorations and broken pews. It’s dark, and smells of dust and mildew. The smell violates your nose as you try to adjust to the light, and then Joel flicks a switch, and a singular, dim lightbulb sparks to life.

You grimace at the surroundings. Untidy, dusty and slightly damp. There’s a dark oak table in the corner of the room, covered in cardboard boxes that are filled to the brim. Obviously this room hardly gets properly taken care of, but in a small town like yours, you aren’t surprised. Most of the things that enter this room hardly come back out, unless needed. But, you aren’t here to judge, you’re here to help. Help this poor, middle-aged priest who blessed the community with his sermons and his striking good looks… wait what?

You sigh as you approach the table full of boxes, slender fingers prising open the lids and rooting through the boxes of old memories and décor.

Behind you, Joel was hungrily glaring at your figure. The way you got to work without any questions. So submissive, so silent. Oh, how he can’t wait to hear you moan his name. To cum all over his cock, to..

“Father Miller?” His thoughts are cut off by your melodic voice drifting through the air. “What exactly are we looking for?”

He chuckles, slowly approaching the table. “Sweetheart, it’s not Sunday, and we’re not in a sermon. Please, call me Joel. Let’s drop the formalities for now.” He smiles, looking down at you, and then, his hand is on your lower back. Hardly an inch above your ass. “Just some decorations. Some banners, the candles, my white robe should be in here somewhere.”

You gasp, the feeling foreign and leaving a strange feeling in your loins. You look up from the boxes of discarded mess, eyes meeting his. “Father Miller..” You start, but he glares at you, eyebrows raised. You squint your eyes shut and scrunch your face up, mentally cursing at yourself for not using the name he’d asked you to use. “I mean, Joel..” You clear your throat. “Why would your robe be in here? Surely it should be at your house, or somewhere safe atleast?” Your eyes slowly open, meeting his again.

He looks at his hand, gliding it up and down your back slowly, as though he was comforting you. “Well, William – Sorry, Father Rafferty left it in here for me. Just haven’t had chance to come rootin’ through the boxes.” He hums, a low tune, a soft one. “So, Sweetheart, tell me.. have you ever sinned?”

The abrupt question makes you freeze up, frown at the thought and straighten up slightly, eyebrows furrowed. “What sort of a question is that?” You ask. “Of course not. Well… I don’t think I have.” You say, wracking your brain for an answer. It’s normal for him to ask these sorts of questions, right? He’s just looking out for you. To make sure you’re on the right path, that you’re pure and holy. You’ve never even looked at another man in a sinful way, let alone kiss one. Sure, you might think the odd boy is cute, and maybe you’ve looked at Father Miller – Joel in a different way, and that’s made you feel sinful. You have to admit though, his scruffy salt and pepper beard, dark eyes and calloused hands are no match for any of the local boys. Joel was beautiful. Handsome, even. But he was thirty years your junior, and the priest. It’d ruin his career and his relationship with God, yours too. You couldn’t do it to yourself.

“You’ve never kissed a boy?” He asks, curiosity peaking. You knew kissing wasn’t a sin, but it’s not like you needed to worry about it. You shake your head, saying nothing. “Would you like to kiss one?” He asks, his body suddenly moving to engulf yours, his crotch right against your ass as he wraps his arms around your waist. You shudder at the movement, his breath hot against your ear.

“Father, I’m not sure this is right.” The formalities are back, you’re unsure, nervous and confused. Never once has he acted this way towards you, so flirtatious and curious. And yet you find yourself wanting more. A burning forming deep inside of you.

“Joel.” He corrects. “And it’s alright, darling. Won’t do nothing you don’t want me to do.” He grabs your hips and turns you around in his arms so you’re facing him. He places his index finger under your chin, lifting your head up to look at him, his eyes piercing yours.

You swallow thickly, eyes scanning his features. His scruffy beard is stark in contrast to his combed-back hair. The weathering on is face is showing, proving his age, showing how wise he is. He’s gorgeous, for an older man. You never would’ve assumed he was in his fifties, had he not told you. You bite your lip, weighing out the pros and cons in your mind of potentially giving your first kiss to this man.

“Just tell me what you want, Darlin’.” He speaks, “it’s not a sin. Well, it’s definitely not a sin if you kiss me. We won’t be doing anything wrong.” He urges, watching intently as your tongue pokes out and swipes against your lower lip. You nod, if anyone should know about sin it’s him. If anyone should know what’s right or wrong, it’s him.

He doesn’t waste a second, closing the space between the pair of you, his lips pressing against yours. They’re plump and warm against yours, and you’re not sure what to do. You try to copy his movements, lips moving when his do. It’s hard and confusing at first, but you manage to get the hang of it slowly. It’s innocent at first. Soft, sweet and oh, so innocent. But the more he presses against you, the more your back presses against you solid oak table. The sharp edge digging into your back, the pain making you gasp. Joel takes this opportunity to slide his tongue between your lips. A wet, warm foreign feeling in your mouth.

It’s a long kiss, deep and hungry. His tongue prodding and attacking your mouth every so often, and you could swear you feel something warm and tingly in your lower stomach. You’re stood awkwardly, hands by your sides with absolutely no sense of direction, that is until Joel takes your hands and places them around his neck. You allow it, and as you settle in, his hands find their place on your waist, calloused fingers digging through your cotton dress.

You wince as he nips your bottom lip with his teeth, and you pull away, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. His eyes dark with a newfound fire in them, and something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Fuck angel, you taste so good.” Joel whispers, his hand coming up and brushing through your hair as he takes your form in. Slightly plumped lips, red and glossy from your shared saliva, eyes wide and still in shock from the moments. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He leans in again, and even though you expect for him to kiss you again, his lips find a new place – on your neck. His beard tickles the sensitive skin, his lips trailing down your neck to your collarbone, which only just peaks out of your modest dress. Your breath catches in your throat, the fire in your stomach growing strangely stronger, more apparent. You sigh out as he plants a wet kiss against your collarbone, his tongue gliding from your collarbone up to your earlobe.

“Such a good girl.” He murmurs in your ear, his fists grabbing your dress and starting to pull it up. You gasp, placing your hand on top of his to stop him, shaking your head.

“No.” You state. “That’s a sin, I can’t go any further, Father. It’s not right.” You tussle in his grip. “I’m waiting until marriage like I should, like God said I should.”

“Oh, sweet girl.” He purrs, slowly shaking your hand off his. “It’s not a sin if you do it with me. It doesn’t count.” He lies, tugging your dress up so it’s just above your waist. He slips his free hand into the waistband of your panties, hissing as his fingers are met with your arousal. “Oh, baby.” He purrs, his finger skilfully prodding your clit. You whine in his arms. “You’re so wet, so desperate.” Wet? That’s what it is? You’re aroused? By this? That strange, unfamiliar feeling in your gut was caused by him?

His fingers swipe your clit, moving at different angles until your face twisted in pleasure and your mouth drops open. A strangled moan comes from the back of your throat, a noise you didn’t even know you could make. A noise you shouldn’t make, but you can’t help it. You can’t stop the chorus of moans falling from your lips, and to Joel it sounds just like a hymn sung in church. So beautiful and melodic to his ears. He loves it.

His index finger trails down, making you frown at the loss of pleasure, prodding your tight hole. You gasp, immediately itching to get out of his grip again. His grip only tightens, and he pulls his hand out of your panties. He looks at the wetness on his hand in the dim light, admiring the shine and your embarrassed face. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Sweetheart.” He winks before popping his fingers in his mouth and sucking your juices clean off them. You at him in both shock and awe as he reaches behind you and clears the table off, boxes falling on the floor with decorations scattering around the room.

He lifts you up, your dress still hiked around your waist as he places you on the table, stepping between your thighs. “You gon’ show me all of you, pretty girl?” He asks, caressing your face with the same hand he just sucked clean. You felt sick to your stomach, but at the same time, you yearned for more.

“Forgive me, Father..” You mutter quietly to the man himself upstairs, as you nod your head and lift your arms up. Joel takes complete advantage of this, removing your dress and discarding it on the dirty floor. You know it’ll be dirty and possibly ruined when you retrieve it after, but you’re sure you’ll make something up to appease your parents.

He whistles lowly at the sight of you in your underwear, and since he asked if you would show him all of you, he doesn’t ask if he can unclasp your bra, he just does it, hardly giving you time to react. The cool air immediately makes your nipples harden, stiff peaks standing to attention, desperate to be touched. To be manhandled and played with. He discards your bra ontop of your dress, his hands coming back and cupping your boobs.

You bite your lip at the new sensation as he fondles them “Do you trust me?” He asks, what a stupid question – of course you do. You nod, and he removes his hands from your breasts, his fingers sliding into the waistband of your panties. You lift yourself off the table slightly, after a glare of expectance from Joel, and he pries your soaking wet panties from your body, the soft pink colour now darker where wet.

“Oh, Darlin’.” He groans as he fingers the damp patch, and your cheeks grow hot again. “I’ve hardly even touched you. Hardly even shown you what a good time I can give ya.” He grins, a devilish grin, as he stuffs your soiled panties into his back pocket.

You shiver in anticipation, any worries of sinning or ruining yourself for marriage being long gone. After all, Father Joel Miller said it was okay, and that it wasn’t a sin asking as you did it with him, and he wouldn’t lie to you, right?

He kneels down in between your legs, groaning as his knees click, a sign of his old age. It should snap you out of this, remind you this isn’t who you are, but it does the opposite. Makes you yearn for him, crave him. He grabs your thighs and thrusts you closer to him so your ass is just barely on the table. With one arm wrapped around your waist, he uses his free hand to gently spread your lips, your pussy shining with arousal in the dim light. Glistening, calling for him, he exhales shakily. “Gotta stay still for me, Baby, okay?”

He dives forward, your soaking cunt spread open for him still, and he places a gentle, chaste kiss on your clit. A simple movement that has you jolting, and him chuckling at your reaction. A low, monotone tune.

“God girl, you’re a nasty little thing, huh?” He doesn’t even give you time to answer before he licks a straight line from your tight hole up to your clit. Your moans have his cock rock hard, painfully stretching against his pants. If he doesn’t get to fuck you, he’ll definitely masturbate to the thought of your moans, the way your cheeks were red and eyes glossed over.

He repeats it a couple of more times, licking stripes up your pussy, purely doing it to wind you up and tease you further, as if you weren’t already a soaking mess for him. He takes pity on you and your whines, leaning forward and wrapping his plump lips around your clit, ravenously devouring your pussy as though he hadn’t eaten for days.

It’s pleasure unlike anything you’ve felt before. So intoxicating and mind numbing, you could live on this feeling. Your hands grip the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as you moan, your hips subconsciously rocking and grinding into his mouth. “Joel.” You groan, and he only hums in response, noisily lapping up your leaking juices.

He brings his hand down, the one that was spreading your lips, and gently prods his middle finger against your tight hole. He gently pushes it in, despite your slight squirming and whines, holding it still to allow your pussy to get used to this new feeling, to this intruder. Then, he’s slowly thrusting his finger into you, all the while he’s completely devouring your pussy.

The feeling burns slightly, but is quick to wear off as it soon turns to pleasure, his finger hitting a certain spot that makes you see stars, that makes you unaware of how loud you are, how pitiful you sound. You don’t even realise he’s brought his second finger into the mix until the burn returns and you feel yourself being stretched out further.

You cry out, your hand shooting to his wrist. “Stop.” You command, voice wavering. “Too full.” He pulls his head away, chuckling lowly at the command.

“Too full?” He asks, “How do you expect me to fit my cock in your pretty pussy if you won’t even let me put my second finger in?” He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were my good girl, are you not? Look at how wet you are, how well you’re taking my fingers.” He gently pushes his fingers in further as he speaks. You look down, the sight simply sinful. Your tight pussy engulfing his large calloused fingers, your juices all over his fingers and knuckles.

“Slowly.” You demand, gently releasing his wrist, and thankfully, he does. He pushes his fingers in, and you’re full. Fuller than you were before, and you didn’t even know that was possible. To feel so filled up and yet.. good? It’s slow, the way his fingers thrust in and out of you, inching deeper every time. It’s progress when the burning subsides, and you nod at Joel.

“Better.” You confirm, and he doesn’t need to ask twice.

His fingers slowly pick up the pace, his tongue attacking your clit again, your hips grinding against him, desperate for more friction, and you don’t even realise you’re doing it.

The burning in your lower abdomen grows stronger, more apparent. Like you’re building up to something momentum, something life changing. “Joel.” You moan. “Fuck, oh God.” You curse, not caring for the moment who hears you curse, or use Gods name in vain. You’ll pray later.

He pulls his lips away from you, smirking up at you. “Gonna cum, baby?” He asks, but you’re unsure. “Let go, Sweet girl. Show me how you cum all over my fingers. Show me how bad you can do.”

Your mouth drops open as his fingers hit that special spot, eyes seemingly rolling into the back of your head as it washes over you. The best thing you’ve felt in your life, crashing over you again and again. You see white flashes, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine. You don’t even realise that you’ve grabbed Joel’s wrist again to keep him in place, your hips rocking back and forth on his fingers.

You’re sweaty, beads of sweat have fallen down your chest, your thighs, and when you come to, you feel filthy, sinful, wrong. Like you’ve just had a piece of you taken. You look down, mouth dropping open as you gently release him from your ironclad grip. “I’m so sorry.” You blubber.

He pulls his fingers out of you, grinning wide at his accomplishment. “Look at that..” He pops his fingers in his mouth, sucking them dry. “Not so innocent, huh? You naughty girl. I heard you curse Gods name.”

“Please don’t mention that to anyone. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry, that shouldn’t of happened.” You plead, the thought of what the community may do to you scares you. You’ve seen what lengths they go to in order to shun someone. “I’ll do anything, just don’t tell them.”

He smirks. “Well, you could do one of two things. You could get on your knees at home and pray to God that he’ll forgive you, although there’s a very low chance of that happening, you sinful little minx.” He chuckles at your sorrowful face. “Or, you can turn around, bend over and let me fuck the sin out of you. I’m sure he’ll forgive you if every drop of sin has been eradicated from your body. Your choice.” He stands, groaning softly as his knees crack again, that reminder of his age causing your pussy to pulse in arousal.

You sigh, wordlessly standing up on wobbly legs. You turn around, gently laying your sweaty body against the table. Your stomach covered in the wetness you’d left behind, the rest of your body being welcomed by the coolness of the wood. “I want him to forgive me.” You squeak.

A feeling of pride in his chest, he smiles. You hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, and then the rustle of his pants as he pulls his cock from out of his boxers. He holds his hand out infront of you. “Spit.”

You gather all the spit in your mouth, spitting it into the palm of his hand. You wonder what he’s going to use your saliva for. “This isn’t going to hurt more than your fingers, is it?” You can hear him stroking himself with your spit, a wet, sloppy sound. You can’t help but wonder what his cock looks like. Is it big? Is it thick? Is it tanned like his sunglowed skin?

“Different for everyone, Angel. Shouldn’t hurt for long if it does.” He says, his free hand adjusting your form slightly. He stands behind you, getting himself into position. “The fact you just came should make it so much easier, and less painful.” He gently pushes the tip of his cock into your tight hole, hissing.

You cry out, the burning sensation stronger than ever as you feel yourself being stretched out around his thick cock. Tears prick your eyes. It’s unpleasant, you feel like you’re being ripped into two, like his cock is going to break you. “Too big.” You cry out again.

He tuts. “You said that about my fingers.” He rolls his eyes. “Too big.” He mocks in a slightly girlish tone. This isn’t the Miller you know. This is someone entirely different. His whole demeanour has changed in a matter of seconds, from the second you bent over for him, he’s far more dominant. “We got my fingers in, didn’t we? Just breathe.” He reaches his freehand down, rubbing your clit in small circles to get you to ease up.

You do as he says, taking deep breaths in through your nose as he continues to stretch your tight hole out around him. It takes what seems like forever before he finally bottoms out, and you hear him sigh. He stays still for a moment, allowing you to adjust before starting to slowly thrust into you.

The burn takes a while to ease off, but when it does and you finally get to embrace the feeling of being truly full up, you’re in shock. You thought two fingers was full, you were wrong.

“This pussy is so fucking tight.” He grunts, his hips slapping against yours as his pace speeds up. “Should’ve fucked you sooner, Pretty girl.” You moan in response, table creaking as he fucks you against it.

“Deeper.” You blurt out. Your body and mouth no longer felt like it belonged to you, it belonged to your lust. Your desperation to cum all over his cock again.

He obliges. “So fucking needy.” He scoffs, but smirks as your moans turn into callings of his name and strings of curses, the tip of his cock nudging that oh so sweet spot you’ve learnt to appreciate in what feels like seconds.

The sounds of skin slapping, moans from you and grunts from him echo around the room, bouncing off the walls and right into your ears, reminding you how your innocence is gone, how you’re no longer pure. How sinful you’ve become, something you’ve lived your entire life avoiding. Something you were taught to never even think about happening, something you were taught to shun others for. And now look at you, what a hypocrite. Bent over a table, being fucked by a man, who despite being very attractive, is decades older than you.

That same feeling is forming in your stomach as he fucks you harder, faster, deeper than before. He’s chasing after his own orgasm too, he can’t help but crumble when it comes to you. You’re just too perfect, and your pussy is his own personal brand of heroin.

It comes abruptly, without any warning, attacks you and your senses. You’re blinded by stars, head dizzy and body feeling heavy.

He gasps, grunting loudly. “Oh, you dirty girl.” He moans, his thrusts becoming sloppy and shallow. Your pussy strangles his cock as you pulsate around it, and it pushes him over the edge.

You can feel him spilling his hot cum inside of you, his cock pulsating in response to your pussy pulsating around him. He collapses on you for a minute, his clothed chest against your naked, sweaty back. You stay like this for a while until you clear your throat and he gets up, his dick now soft as it slips out of you, a mixture of your juices trickling down your legs.

He steps back to admire the view. Your ruined pussy, pumped full of his cum, pulsating around nothing. He hums as he tucks himself back into his pants, tutting at the small wet patch near his zipper. “Messy girl.” He mutters.

You gently push yourself up, grimacing at the feeling of the mixture of your juices trickling down your soft, shaky thighs. You bend over slowly, picking your discarded bra up from the floor and putting it back on. “Can I have my underwear back?”

He shakes his head. “They’re mine now, Angel.” He gives you a cheeky grin. You groan and point down to the mess trickling down your legs, and his response to that is to give you an old rag from one of the boxes.

You clean yourself up the best you can with the resources you’re given, but it’s not enough. He’s pumped you full of his cum and it’s still trickling out. You just decide you’re going to have to pray for the best. You pick up your once pristine white dress, now crumpled and dirty from the floor. You pour, seeing as it was picture perfect only this morning. You sigh, placing it over your head.

“Now, come on. We’ve got a church to decorate.” He winks at you, grabbing a box of decorations and walking out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and feelings.

————————————————————————

Tags: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

A/N: sorry but i think it’s absolutely ironic that I’m posting this on the day i’m actually going to church (christening).

[nica-my-beloved]

Princes reacting to Emma's Cringy Pick-up lines (Season 2)

Chevalier

Emma:  "I never believed in love at first sight, but that was before I saw you."

Chevalier: *looks up from his book* "..........."

Chevalier: *smirks* "Was it before your legs started trembling or after?"

Leon

Emma: "If being sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged"

Leon: "Hahaha...*unbuttons his shirt and opens his arms* then punish me your honor?"

Yves

Emma: "You’ve got a lot of beautiful curves, but your smile is absolutely my favorite."

Yves: *starts blushing furiously!*

Yves: "Stop looking at me with those hungry eyes!!"

Licht

Emma: " It says in the Bible to only think about what’s pure and lovely… So I’ve been thinking about you all day long."

Licht: *.....................*holds her head towards his chest*

Emma: "Umm....Licht?"

Licht: "How can you read my mind so easily like that?" *and starts caressing her hair*

Nockto

Emma: " I can’t tell if that was an earthquake, or if you just seriously rocked my world."

Nockto: "Pfft,..."*tries holding back his laughter*

Emma: ".....don't laugh"

Nockto: "Hahahahahaha!!!"

Jin

Emma: " Your hand looks heavy—can I hold it for you?"

Jin: "Your boobs look heavy—can I hold them for you?"

Emma: "No!" *covers her chest area*

Clavis

Emma: "In my opinion, there are three kinds of beautiful: Cute, pretty, and sexy. Somehow, you manage to be all three."

Clavis: "Emma....*dramatically hugs her* You're the only person who understands me!!!"

Cyran: *side eyes him*

Luke

Emma: "I was going to say something really sweet about you, but when I saw you, I became speechless."

Luke: "Emma...even I think you're sweeter than any honey." *kisses the back of her hand*

Sariel

Emma: "You know, I had a pickup line ready to go, but you’re so hot it just left my mind."

Sariel: "Hm? Really?" *while pulling out his whip*

Rio

Rio: *memorizing pick-up lines that Jin taught him*

Emma: "Rio!!"*comes hopping towards him and stands in front of him*

Emma: "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I try walking by again?"

Rio: *starts blushing and forgets all the pick-up lines he learned*

Rio: "I don't know about love at first sight....but when you walk like that in front of me....I just..."

Emma: "Thehe..."

Keith

Emma: "Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material."

Keith: "Which one? Me or the other me?"

Silvio

Emma: "Trust me, I’m not drunk; I’m just intoxicated by you."

Silvio: *blushing* "Do you think I'd fall for one of your pick-up lines if you keep going on and on!?"

Emma: "If you let me borrow a kiss, I promise I’ll give it right back."

Silvio: *blushes even more* "Just shut up already-----!? Hey! Hey, don't come closer!!"

Gilbert

Gilbert: "What if I say, 'You must be a hell of a thief, because you managed to steal my heart from across all the other princes'?"

Roderic: "I think Emma's heart gonna stop if you say that too her. I think it's for the best, if you don't use pick-up lines, your highness."

Gilbert: "If her heart stops I'll kill her."

Roderic: "Right. The normal you, is way better."

Gilbert: "I know. I guess I'll just seduce her with my dashing looks."

Matias

Emma: "Wow, when God made you, he was seriously showing off."

Matias: "Oh really?"

Emma: "........."

Matias: ".............?"

Emma: "Ok that was a pick up line."

Matias: "It was?"

Kagari

Emma: "I don’t know which is prettier today—the weather, or your eyes."

Kagari: "Dorayaki"

Emma: "Huh?"

Kagari: "Dorayaki is the best. Want one?"

Emma: "...............................................can I have two?"

Azel

Emma: "I swear someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes."

Azel: "Hah....obviously. Because I'm god."

Azel: (AAHAHAHAHAHA WHY IS MY HEART DOING THE DOKI DOKI THING!?~)

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Lady Adaline AU)

*Adam woke up and started to get ready for the day, he shaved and bathed himself, he couldn’t let there be any facial hair on his, he also shaved off the body hair too, he had been born with both the parts of a man and a woman, his parents forced him to be a woman named Adaline, he hated being strictly feminine and wished he could express himself as both, he preferred having the name Adam as well, he chose that name while reading the Bible one day and was thinking of the story of Adam and Eve, he pulled on the deep purple dress that all of Princess Lilith’s ladies in waiting wore as a uniform, his friend Lute who knew his secret braided his long hair that fell to his knees and pinned it up before putting a soft gold veil over onto his head*

Adam: I wish that I could take a dagger and slice off that braid.

Lute: You know that a maiden must cherish her hair.

Adam: But I don’t feel like a typical maid, my parents shoved the identity of Adaline onto me because I can get pregnant.

Lilith: Lute, Adaline, we are leaving now.

*Lute and Adam worked for a Princess named Lilith as ladies in waiting, she was hoping to soon be a wife to a King named Lucifer, all the Princesses were called to Lucifer’s kingdom so he could choose a bridge, Lilith was an elegant woman in a dark purple gown with jewels all over it, her golden hair shined in the sunlight, but her beautiful visage hid a cruel heart, Lute and Adam walked out with Lilith, she was quite sure that she would be chosen, they got into the carriage and went to Lucifer’s castles, Lucifer sat at his throne and watched as Princesses were paraded in front of him, they were pretty, but they didn’t catch his attention until he saw a lady in waiting arriving with Lilith, this lady was tall with honey brown eyes with a light sprinkling of freckles across the nose and cheeks, a little bit of soft brown hair was peeking under the veil*

Lucifer: Anthony bring the tall lady in waiting with Princess Lilith with me, I want to talk with her.

Anthony: Of course.

*Adam was confused when Anthony told Lilith that Lucifer wanted to talk to him*

Lilith: My dear Adaline is such a good lady in waiting to me.

*Lilith grabbed Adam’s arm hard enough to leave a bruise*

Lilith: Lucifer is obviously asking to talk to you because he wants to see what kind of Queen I will make, speak kindly of me or you will be horse whipped tonight.

*Adam nodded, his bag feeling phantom pains on his back from the last time Lilith had him horse whipped*

Adam: Yes my princess.

*when in public Adam was able to disguise his voice to be more feminine, Anthony took Adam’s hand and led him to the King and Adam was struck by how handsome Lucifer was, he wished in that moment he was a princess just so he could be considered a possible candidate for the King’s hand in marriage*

Anthony: Presenting Lady Adaline, lady in waiting to Princess Lilith.

*Lucifer held out his hand to Adam and he placed the delicate hand in the King’s hand, when Lucifer kissed his hand Adam knew that he was in love*

Adam blushed and bowed respectfully to the King. He needed to make this good for Lilith or he would live Hell on Earth.

Adam: You requested to speak with me your majesty?

Lucifer: Yes I did, I noticed you from the moment you stepped out of the carriage. I was wondering if you were spoken for by another?

Adam blinked: No, your majesty I'm not.

Lucifer: Well then that settles it. I would like to take you as my bride.

Adam looked at him in shock. Was he serious? This hardly seemed like the kind of thing a King like him would hold about.

Adam: But I'm not a princess.

Lucifer: It does not matter to me. You are a beautiful woman and I would love to get to know you more and court you properly. I can give you the best life you deserve.

Adam knew that any life living outside of Lilith would be better than that. He could keep his secret for now..... Even if it meant just getting away from her and getting to know the handsome King.

Adam: I'll do it.

Lucifer: Excellent! We'll have you and your things moved into your own personal quarters here at once.

Adam knew that from that moment on his life would change forever.

[rottingcherub-txt]

❝ To The Bone ❞

🫀・・・contents: sapphic relationship, obsessive behavior, mentions of religion (specifically Catholicism), blasphemey, Sexual Assault by religious leader, mentions of animal death, not being believed (referring to SA), gore and blood, graphic depiction of murder, cannibalism

I can still hear him.

If I’m quiet enough, if I press my ear against the walls of my bedroom, I can hear his footsteps, his humming of hymns as he makes his way towards my room. When I lie in my bed at night, between the buzzing song of crickets and cicadas outside of my bedroom window I always leave just slightly ajar, I can see his silhouette standing at the end of my bed before I blink and realize that it’s simply a poorly shaped shadow and the figment of my imagination coming to remind me. I close my eyes and roll over with my face pressed into the pillow, waiting for Dawn to stretch her fingers across the horizon and soothe a finger across the slope of my exposed thighs. Mama would come into my room to wake me, tell me to take a bath, and get ready for church.

I always dressed in white for Sunday mass. He liked me in white but you liked me in white as well. You’d smile every time I came into the church, following closely behind my mother and father as they greeted Reverend Hall — that beautiful, paled piece of raised skin against your honeyed cheek and narrow jaw shifting slightly with the pull of your lips. I wanted to kiss it, to trace my finger over the edges of it, to tell you I loved it, that horrific scar.

But he smiled at me too. “Good to see you, Ada. I’m happy you’re here.” Reverend Hall placed his hand on the small of my back, his thumb pressing circles through the cloth of my dress. His smile kept secrets, secrets only kept between me, him, and God. His looks whispered of the handsome man he once was. His hair still thick yet graying at the sides and around his hairline, wrinkles forming from his narrowed nose and curving around his thin, rosy lips from all the years he’s spent smiling at me. He held his bible in his large, paled hand; the same bible he read to me as I sat in his lap as a child, listening while he expressed to me the importance of purity — all while he twisted the purity within me.

I offered him a smile as well, brief and placid before moving on and my gaze found you once more. You had turned your back on me, listening to Mr. Williams — your father — speak to you and your brother. My father guided me to our usual pew towards the front of the church in front of the altar.

Reverend Hall stood at the podium as he did every Sunday morning and addressed the church. “The Lord is good, is he not?” And while a chorus of hums and “yes”s and “praise Him”s echo off the walls of their poor, little church house, weathered down and rotting from the inside out from the constant rain and perpetual, never-ending Georgia heat; I was just looking at you from across the way. You didn’t seem all that interested and you never have. You’d rather be with your studs and bitches despite the beasts attacking you when you were young. That’s how you got that scar along your cheek and the vicious bite marks across your arm.

“Father stresses purity. First Timothy chapter 5, verse 22, ‘Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands, and do not share in the sins of others. Keep yourself pure.’” Reverend Hall glanced down at me. Me in my pretty, white dress matched with lace-trimmed socks and mary jane shoes, me the image of purity in a town like this, me, the girl of which he ripped the flowers from the garden bed of childhood.

He loved me like this. Pure. The white against my dark skin, my wide, innocent eyes looking up at him. He loved standing above me, loved looking down at me, loved me. 

And I hated him. He dirtied me, defiled me — me. My purity, my perfection, my godliness. He tried to take that from me. But divinity can not be extinguished. It is eternal.

After a sermon, hours long, and even longer songs of worship, church was over. That meant me and Mama would spend the rest of our day cooking after church dinner. Papa would be in the living room, leaning back in his recliner with a beer in hand, calling for a sandwich and getting increasingly irritated by the minute.

“Mama, could I go to the Williams’ for a little bit? I wanna see if Ruth can come to dinner.” I tugged on the back of my mother’s skirt while she took her church hat off of her curled head. “Fine, but you stay away from them dogs, ya hear? I don’t want you comin’ home with no bites on ya arm. Them damn mutts vicious.” Mama never liked the Williams’ dogs. All them bully breeds, muscled-up pits, Rottweilers, all the sorts. They were fighting dogs. The Williams bred them, best in the state.

I was already out the door by the time she let out her last words, still in my church dress and my pretty Mary Janes I didn’t want to scuff up but I was so excited to see you that I didn’t care.

We lived in a small town. Population all of 100 some people. The Williams’ ranch was about half a mile down and the walk was marked by tall grass and powerlines. Cicadas sang constantly, day and night, all hidden between the shadows of Magnolia trees not yet bloomed.

Your land was often muddy, wet, full of boot and paw prints. The air seemed to get all the more humid, mosquitoes trying to land on any piece of exposed flesh. I always appreciated mosquitoes. They were in and out before you knew it with only an itchy bump to mark their existence. The best way to leave a mark is in discomfort. The grass was always half-dead and I never understood how you and your family managed to keep the few cows and goats you had. 

You, my precious, glorious, scarred god, were in a pin outside with a heavily pregnant red-nose Pitbull. You in your boots, always caked in dry and wet mud, and flannel with the sleeves always rolled up to your elbows. Your hair is tied up into a messy bun of curls and sweat is already dripping from your hairline down your dark caramel skin. Your scars on your face and arms from being attacked by one of your daddy’s dogs.

I remembered seeing the stitches, your split open cheek and arm. I wanted to lick the blood from your wounds. I wanted to cut you open, to part your ribcage and eat your heart. I wanted to slip into your skin and wear it like a blanket to forever keep me warm and I hope you wanted to do the same. I wanted to kill that stupid mutt that dared to hurt you but your daddy took it out back and shot it first. That was when I decided I liked your father.

"Oh- Ada." You seemed to brighten at the sight of me approaching. Your skin glowed gold when you walk into the sun to meet me at the fence. "Came right on time, 'm 'bout to put Missy back in her kennel. Her puppies should be coming any day now." The dog was fat and stout with engorged pink nipples bursting at the seems to feed the pups to be. She drooled with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, panting. "Tryna take a walk around?" Your voice was so sweet, so melodic.

I smiled softly at you. "No. I wanted to see if you could come to my house for dinner." As long as I could remember, you and I have always been best friends. Our families weren't close. My family was evangelical and yours could take or leave church. My house, littered in crosses and peeling floral wallpaper, a box TV in the corner. Your house was just the same but covered in animal heads instead. You come from a family of hunters, animal people. It shows in how we present ourselves but the love was there nonetheless.

I've never told you what happened though. I know you sensed an irreversible change in me after the first day it happened but your comments were always kept to a minimum. I appreciated it. I never wanted you to know I wasn't pure for you, that I was a disgusting harlot capable of seducing this town's Mother Teresa. I wanted to be, but my thoughts were already taking a turn.

I wonder how you taste. Will you taste like salty sweat? Like dirt? Like dog? Like love? I wanted to love you down to the bone. I wanted my love to consume you whole and leave nothing left behind.

But you and I were cut from the same cloth of the universe. I knew you were just as demented as me from late night talks on the roof of your farmhouse. I had turned to you, looking away from a night sky so clear it glowed with stars, and I asked you, "Are you ever hungry? And I don't mean physically but…deep somewhere in your soul. No matter how much you stuff into your face, you can never feel it."

And without thought you said, "Yeah. It's the kinda hunger everyone has but can't feed without another person. Even then, very rarely does it go away." Your face was blank solemn and I knew our thoughts were running parallel to each other. 

Then you kissed me that night, sweet and tender at first, then harder, hungrier. It was a sin for two girls like us to kiss like this. Both of our families would have never let us see each other again. My daddy would have drowned me in holy water. I should have felt guilty but I didn’t, I couldn’t not when I tasted you. We were hidden beneath the cover of night, no one had to know.

I bit your lip so hard it drew blood. You hissed and pulled away a bit and for a moment I had worried that I had ruined everything. But you had looked me in the eyes, yours glittering under the stars and you smiled with that bloody lip of yours and kissed me harder. I tasted your blood on my tongue — tangy and metallic — and I was intoxicated on it. You bit my tongue and our life sources mingled in a way so intimate I thought we might transcend this plane of existence.

The way you were — I wasn't sure if I wanted to have you or wanted to be you. You in your silent confidence and quiet perfection. Nothing bothered you. You were holy without even trying. Was wanting to be and wanting to have so innately intertwined that one could not exist without the other? When it came down to it, I simply wanted to possess you, completely.

Your crooked grin faded. "Oh Ada, I can't tonight. Ma need my help 'round the house later on but maybe another day." You always let me down easy so I'd take your small rejections lightly. I could see in your eyes that you always hated saying no to me. I always hated when you said no to me too.

I took it with ease though I was seething on the inside. 'Your mother can wait. What about me? You're breaking my heart here.' "That's okay." I was always told I had the smile of an angel. By my mother, friends of the family, Reverend Hall as he grabbed my chin with a, "you look prettier when you smile".

"Promise you not mad at me, sugarplum?" You hold out a long pinky to me with a smile so sweet it makes my cheeks burn. I loved the way you called me endearing nicknames. Sugarplum, sweetheart, darling. If I hadn't known any better and if I weren't dissecting you from the inside out, I would have assumed that's just how you are. A lot of southern folks call everyone those kinds of names. Our southern manners and hospitality.

But I can see, you use those southern niceties to wink at me, nudge me to realize your adoration of me, your worship. You recognize the divinity within me and I see it within you as well; within your dirt and mud and sweat.

I wrapped my smaller pinky around yours and smiled. "Never." I didn't want to leave you yet. I wanted you to hold me. I wanted to get dirty in the mud with you, but never impure. Never tainted. How could perfection be tainted? I was whole with you, a stolen piece of me returned. Together, we could transcend all of this and be more than everything, more than God.

But you had things to do, my love, and I never want to hold you from your duties. "I'll see you around, Ruth." I blew you a discreet kiss and your pink lips curled up, your scar shifted, and you caught the sun just right again. My golden god.

You took my wrist gently and pulled me back to press your lips to mine. Just a peck, a discrete kiss. It couldn’t be anything more, not now, not in the day. You let me go as quick as you grabbed me and I was dizzy on you, high on your love. I might have looked ditzy and lovesick as you leaned in and whispered in my ear, “See ya ‘round, Ada.”

The walk home was uneventful. I was far too busy tracing my fingers over my nether lip to feel the pressure of your lips on mine. Only that a rusty old truck making a whining screeching sound passed and I heard a faint, "Hey Ada!" Everyone in this town knew each other but I never bothered with learning names. No one mattered to me except you.

I returned home dappled with sweat and aching feet, still giggling to myself. I came through the back door that led into the kitchen and dining room. I stopped in my tracks, struck in the chest as if God had chosen to smite me on the spot. Reverend Hall sat at our dinner table with his trusty leatherback bible sitting beside him.

“Ada. You’re home.” Mama ushered me in. “Wash ya hands and help me with this potato salad.” I never expected him to be here at my table again, smiling at me knowingly. He hasn’t done it in ages, years, not since I was 15. I thought it was over. But politeness was key. He would not have me again, my soul, my dignity. I was above him. I was above everyone. He was just a maggot under my shoe. But that did not explain why I was so terrified of him.

“Ada. I’m so honored to be having dinner with your family. I hope I am welcome in your home.” I wanted to tear his throat out with my bare hands, shred him to pieces before his God and curse Him and His evil ways.

I did not answer him. Instead, I went upstairs to calm myself. My heart threatened to break my ribs, to suffocate me. And for a moment, I wish it would. But I reminded myself of who I am. I am greater, I am God. Who was he to scare me? He’s the one who should be scared. But that ideology did not comfort me when I went back downstairs and kissed Papa’s cheek and he whispered to me, “Don’t you go causing trouble now. Screaming your accusations up and down the street. You know Reverend Hall is a good man. Don’t act up.”

My Ma and Pa never believed me when I tried to tell them. How could a man of God ever do such a thing to a child? I was lying for attention apparently and was made to apologize to Reverend Hall which he graciously accepted. “It is alright. All children have wild imaginations. She must have taken my afternoon private lessons in an unsavory way.” He smiled at me with a glint in his dark eye and that was the end of it.

Sitting down for dinner was Hell. I was forced to sit beside him, my hand in his as we lowered our hands while Reverend Hall led us in prayer. He held my hand tightly, his grasp bordering on crushing as he glanced at me. I could feel it, his gaze burrowing into me, carving out my insides, hollowing me.

Dinner was unappetizing. I simply pushed my food around my plate, thinking of you, Ruth, how I wished you were sitting here instead of him. I wished we could share smiles across the table with our own secret shared between just the two of us because the way he smiled at me showed his secret, the secret I tried to make known only for it to be shoved into a box. The thing about a secret like that is that it’s not dying to get out. Whether it's known or not, a secret that is not cared for is not a secret.

We were all sitting in it. The mess he made of me. The secret between us, all of us, would simply stay here. I did not know whether my parents truly believed me or not. A part of me thought they did, but knew something like this would mean reshaping their worldview, something they weren’t ready for. But what about me? What about the little girl that had her world shattered by someone she was meant to trust wholeheartedly? 

"Adaline. Stop playin' with ya food and eat." Papa snapped. I stood abruptly, pushing my plate away. "'m not hungry. I'll just go to bed." I didn't wait for a response. I just left and no one tried to call after me because they knew. They all knew why I didn't want to be there, why I could feel myself growing angrier by the moment.

I lay in the dark on my bed with only the comfort of crickets and cicadas. With my ear pressed against the wall, I listened and the world fell silent. The creaks and groans of this old, withering house disappeared.

And then I heard him. His hymns, his slow, dragging footsteps weighing down the floors as he made his way to my bedroom. I fell into bed before he opened the door with my back turned to him.

"Adaline." He called my name and I shivered. The door clicked closed and I could hear the way his leathery fingertips rubbed his bible as if ready to open it to justify what he was about to do.

I stared at the cross above my bed the whole time. By now, I had known it intimately. The way every end comes to a decorated point, a golden carving of Jesus hanging from it, His blank lifeless eyes staring down at me, condemning me, berating me like I asked for any of this.

There was something here once. A little girl with stars in her eyes and hope in her heart. Undying love for her Lord, her Father, who would protect her from all.

I was defiled by him and when he kissed me, I wanted nothing more than to kill him. If I killed him, would it make me good? Would it make me holy? Would it make me whole again?

No…only you would make me whole.

I think– in his own way, he loved me. The sick, twisted kind of love. The love one has for a possession rather than a person. The kind of love that is ownership, a pet. I didn't want to be loved that way. And I didn't love him.

I will not go into detail what he did to me for I will never give him the satisfaction, but I was left in my bed with tears streaking my cheeks. I did not fight him. I never fought. Maybe I should have but you understand, right? At my core, I am just a child. What was I meant to do and if I hadn't done it, would that make me to blame?

I was not the same person in the morning. Like a layer of skin peeled off of me and left me cold, slimy, and trembling. I was reborn. He had molded me into a monster. I went to the bathroom to find myself staring at my own reflection. My hair was tangled and frizzy, the tips unkempt and ragged. My face was blotchy and red. And I wanted him to see me like this. I wanted him to know I wasn't afraid, I was angry. My eyes were wild and black as I stared accusingly into his already dead eyes. Do you know how many times he did this to me? How many times he has hurt me?

What would you do if you found out? Would you be outraged, threaten to kill him, to protect me? Or would you look upon me in disgust, finally see me for the unworthy, disgusting being I am. A fallen angel? A broken God?

I could feel him inside of me.

I sat unmoving at the table, my head down low. The world had felt so fragile, like it was about to shatter. And I didn't want anyone to see through my eyes because if they did, they would see that I was a demon. I was the one who should be burned. I was the one who cannot be forgiven. My mother brought me breakfast and it sat on the table in front of me, untouched.

  "Adaline? Ada, are you alright? I've made you a plate. Eat." She placed a cool hand on my cheek and that was it. How dare she? How dare she ask if I'm okay as if she didn't know, as if they all didn't know? They knew what he was going to do the moment he began upstairs and she had the audacity to ask me if I'm okay.

"No, Ma! I'm not okay! How could I be okay?!" I screamed, picking up my plate and tossing it to the floor. The glass shattered into fragments and my mother gasped in shock at my outburst. "Why didn't you protect me? Where were you when I needed you? Where was God when I needed Him?" Why was I sobbing? Why should I give anything to them? Why should they see me at my lowest?

Still in my nightgown, I left out of the door of our small, decaying house, littered in the judgmental eyes of Christ. I wanted you. I wanted you to hold me, to touch me, to tell me I am worthy, I am pure, I am Holy. So I ran to you, Ruth. I ran with my soft soles against asphalt and broken glass. I bled, leaving my sins in my wake with each footstep.

I wanted to run away from God, away from Him and take you with me. We could be more than all of this.

Who, but God above, if there even is one, would forgive me? Forgive me for being created with a sacred heart. Forgive me for being born into a world where my purity was meant to be coveted. Forgive me for being born a woman. Forgive me for being born with purity, with pain and suffering. Who here would forgive me? Who would be merciful enough to accept me?

I am an effigy of purity.

Do you blame me for this? Do you hate me as I hate myself? Do you blame God as I blame myself? Did he hurt you like this? Did he? Did he? Did he?

I ran through dirt and mud, through the cold, whipping wind as with early morning came frigid air.

My feet did not stop until I was at your doorstep and I knocked, hoping that you would answer. You and your brother were usually up by now, checking up on the dogs. But your Pa's old pickup was gone and I feared you had gone with him.

I heard the peephole open, heard you answer. "Ada?" you called, your voice weary and scratchy. I was scared you wouldn't open the door because this was too much, too fast. I need you to accept me. I need you to be the first to forgive me so maybe I can forgive myself.

"Adaline? Hun, what's wrong?" You opened the door and I fell into your arms, weeping.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I sobbed into your chest and you stood still, just holding me. I was in your arms for a long time, trying to calm my breathing, calm my heart.

"Good Lord, Sweetheart. What happened?" You asked, your voice pained as you pulled me inside. I stood in your kitchen and could only stare at the floor. You pulled out a chair and I sat down. The way you looked at me, I felt safe. I felt like enough. 

“Ya feet all bloody. Look like ya got the devil on ya heels." You left the room to grab a rag and soaked it in water to clean my feet just as Mary Magdalene did Christ. You were tender with me, taking my ankle in your slender, calloused fingers and cleaned the blood and dirt from my feet with diligence. I’ve never felt so loved, so cared for. You wiped my tears and told me it was okay, comforted me without interrogation, and stroked my head until I finally calmed down enough to speak.

“Now, tell me what’s goin’ on here. You scarin’ the daylights outta me.” You knelt before me with your hands on my soft, brown knees. Your eyes were earnest and open, ready to accept the wildest of all I had to say.

"He did it again," I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying.

"Who did what again?" 

"The Reverend. He defiled me again." I said, my eyes pleading for you to understand. I didn’t want to go into detail but with those few words, you knew all you needed to know. The thing about you, that I loved and appreciated, was that you didn’t look at me with pity in your eyes. I wasn’t suddenly something irreversibly broken to you. I wasn’t a victim. I was a person first and foremost. You looked upon me with sympathy, even empathy and accepted my accusation wholeheartedly, without question. That’s how much you loved me, trusted me.

You didn’t ask how it happened or try to deny or justify it. You just accepted it and loved me deeper, harder. You saw me, felt me and buried your face into my stomach. I wrapped my arms around your head. You held me, rocking us back and forth for a long time, holding onto my purity for me, for us, while I sobbed.

"It’s okay, Adaline. I’ve got’cha. I’m here for ya." You stood up and I followed, standing on my tiptoes to kiss you because you were so tall for a girl. Our lips grazed with the same tenderness seen in depictions of angels in church.

“I want to kill him,” I murmured against soft, yet dry lips. “I don’t want him to hurt me anymore. Please don’t let him hurt me anymore.” My fingers traced your deformed cheek with love and admiration for the beauty of it.

I knew I wasn’t wrong to see the darkness within you when you said, “I won’t, I won’t let him hurt you. Let’s kill him.” And that darkness that melted so nicely together with mine, made you all the more divine; all the more beautiful. I wanted so badly to be one with you and I’ve never loved you so badly. I kissed you again and you kissed me back, all while knowing that if your Pa caught us we’d be strung up as a spectacle of the devil. Your flesh tasted so bittersweet. I wanted to sink my teeth into your skin and consume you as we started to that night and I could tell you were holding back as well.

“Let’s do it tomorrow after church.” I needed him gone. I needed to bathe in his blood to make me pure once again. I’d take back what he had stolen from me. You soothed a hand down my arm and your fingers laced into mine. “What’s the plan?”

—

“Reverend Hall.” I stood with my fingers wrapped around the cross above my be behind my back in my favorite Sunday best. The white against my dark skin, the bow pinning my curly hair back, allowing the youthfulness of my face to show through. Round and chubby, a well-fed girl that hasn’t yet slimmed out from puberty. I knew it would entice him.

His thin lips curled into a smile. It was just the two of us in the church house after a late sermon. “Ada, what can I do for you?” He liked the look on my face, the innocent unawareness scribbled across my face. I was vulnerable and vulnerable meant easy. He knew I wouldn’t fight him.

“I am having trouble having faith in the Lord, Reverend.” My cross in my hand, given to me by my mother, the God that stood by and let me hurt, that protected all his secrets, would be his undoing.

He came down from his podium, off the stage where he would stand before the choir, and met me in the middle of the aisle. The sun hit the stained glass at just the right angle and it cast a rainbow across our faces. “Of course, child.” His hands reached out to cup mine, never without his sacred book. “I’m glad you came to me.”

I glanced past his shoulder as you came from your hiding place behind a pew. I smiled, at him and at you. “I’m glad I came too.”

You grabbed him, took him completely by surprise, and dragged him to the floor. You pinned his arms down while I got on top of him, straddled him the way he always did me. We were basked in the multicolored light of God. This act was holy. He was terrified, the same look of utter fear that would draw on my face every time he touched me. I had never felt so powerful.

My fingers wrapped around the cross, I rose it high above my head. “This is for everything you’ve done to me.” And I plunged it down into his beating heart. “You bastard! You sick!” I stabbed him again, “Twisted!” And again. “Bastard!” I didn’t know how many times I stabbed him but by the end, I was covered in blood and screaming, crying. I grabbed that Godforsaken bible he always carried around and tore the faded pages of them out. I jammed them into his bloody mouth, down his throat.

“Ada, Ada.” You reached out to me and cupped my face in your hands, stroking my cheeks with the pad of your thumbs without a single care of whether you get blood on you or not. I was free. I was pure. I looked at you and felt whole. I wanted to be one with you. You in me, me in you, no distinction between the two of us.

“He’s dead. He’s gone. We’ve gotta get out of here.” The two of us already had our things packed and in the bed of your dad’s pickup. Just the bare minimum. All we needed was each other.

You grabbed my hand and I grabbed yours as we rose to our feet. Together, we ran out of the church to escape this town so small it could never hope to contain the two of us. You in the driver’s seat and myself in shotgun, we rode off down the dirt roads leaving dust in our wake. We drive into the sunset, drive until we feel we’re far enough from our little hometown. You pull over on the side of the road so I can change beneath a streetlight.

But I couldn’t contain myself. I took you and I kissed you, the rush of it all. I’ve never felt so free, so unrestrained in everything I wanted. I loved you, Ruth. I loved you to death. Now nothing can keep us apart.

I kissed you, I bit you. I loved you. And you loved me just the same. The bitter taste of your blood coating my tongue, mine coating yours. The hunger we always longed for filled. We consumed each other, beyond the struggling, the pain.

They found us later on at the crack of dawn. Just a pile of flesh and bones, teeth marks everywhere. It was hard for them to determine who was who. We had accepted each other so thoroughly that they were forced to bury us with pieces of each other in our caskets. We filled our hunger for each other, our love so strong it became blasphemous. We ascended to something greater, something beautiful. Something whole.

We loved each other down to the bone.

[drewlover]

annabeth is first introduced to eve at school. her teacher—ms. honey—had given her a bible. no one had told her it was for religious purposes, or that someday the idea of it would be so ridiculous to her, so she just treated it like any other story, another poem-of-sorts to be read and analyzed.

she barely makes it past genesis—there was only so much a six-year-old's attention span could take, no matter how smart the said six-year-old was. perhaps it had felt wrong, too, older forces making the wind cooler and the book harder to read, century-old jealousy rearing its head.

but annabeth was annabeth, and she took on challenges better than most. she finished genesis and gave it back to her teacher.

"eve is like me," is all she says when she gives it back to ms. honey.

ms. honey nods and smiles. "yes, darling. she is a woman, and as brave and beautiful as you will be."

annabeth nods. she doesn't tell ms. honey that the only similarity she's noticed between herself and eve was that eve did not have a mother, either.

-

her father is a good parent. the thing is, annabeth doesn't really know what a good parent is, but her father is kind. he doesn't raise his voice at her, and he smiles absently and nods when she says something. he never forgets to put a side a smaller serving on a smaller plate whenever he eats, even though he barely remembers to.

she tells him about eve, and tells him that she is like her. she doesn't notice the way his hands grip his pen tighter when she says the word 'mother'.

she doesn't understand why her father won't bring her to church, either.

-

annabeth is seven when her mother first speaks to her. she's been on the streets for so long, and she's tired. the spiders keep following. the monsters keep following. she's alone, and so, so hungry.

"annabeth."

the voice is stern—there is no warmth in them. sterile. cool. precise. annabeth looks up.

somehow, she knows. "mother."

her mother looks her up and down, but makes no move to go closer. a cap appears in front of annabeth—old and worn, yet heavy, still. a gift from her mother. she takes it, and her hands tremble.

athena notices. her mouth forms a sneer, but no insult comes out of her mouth. "do me proud," she says instead, like a seven-year-old will understand, like a child will understand.

yet athena still flows through annabeth's veins, and she nods. athena disappears, and there is nothing left—just the slightest ripple of a breeze. the monsters come, still, and the spiders soon follow. athena doesn't come back.

annabeth wonders if her mother gifts her invisibility so that she will never have to see annabeth again.

-

the invisibility cap hasn't worked in over a year. the first time it doesn't work she's caught of guard, and the scorpion hits her on the shoulder, already weakened from the time during the battle of manhattan. it takes the combined force of her, chiron, and will to stop percy from storming olympus and destroying her mother's temple.

"why would she give something just to take it away?" percy asked her, eyebrows furrowed with anger. he's a hurricane in her arm, fingers trembling and veins thrumming.

annabeth doesn't answer, but she knows. this is her mother, telling her that annabeth needs to be seen.

-

annabeth is nineteen years old when she renounces her mother, and the pain is bone deep.

she does it in rome, where her mother had sent her in a fit of anger, sending her daughter to execute her revenge. take back the mark of athena. make your mother proud.

athena had sent her there, a pig raised for slaughter.

she had braved tartarus. the gods, no matter their cruelty, held no power over her now.

her mother had always been one of the crueler ones.

"you renounce me? you dare?"

annabeth could feel her blood thrumming in her veins, threatening to burst out. athena was barely keeping her essence in—annabeth could see her skin burning gold, on the precipice of shifting to her godly form. everything was blurring around the edges—athena was barely holding on to her disguise. despite everything, she refuses to incinerate annabeth. a small act of mercy.

"yes mother. i dare." she could feel the blood soaking her teeth, could taste it's metallic tang on her tongue. the air grew hotter.

"you would not have me on your side. you will never gain back my alliance, annabeth. do you dare?"

annabeth laughed, and somewhere she knew dionsyus was chuckling in delight at the traces of insanity in it. blood trickled down her chin and onto the ground, but it did not sizzle. the blood wasn't an offering to athena. it was an act of defiance.

athena's most successful warrior—whose blood no longer belonged to her.

"very well," athena said eyes flashing gold. "you are no longer my daughter. greek land will reject your blood. no longer will you be accepted into our world, and no longer will you be mine."

annabeth felt the bones in both her legs crack, but she refused to let out the scream of anguish struggling to be let out of her throat. refused to give athena the satisfaction of knowing that this hurt her as much as it hurt the goddess.

all at once the goddess disappeared, and annabeth was left alone in the middle of rome.

she looked up. it was a church, and it was beautiful.

eve looked down at her, with her frightened eyes and trembling hands wrapped around the apple.

the apple that had gifted her knowledge. the apple that had taken away everything from eve. the apple that had gifted humanity freedom.

annabeth had never been more like her.

[silentwhispofhope]

*Limping to your request box* I MISSED YOU AND I WANT TO GIVE YOU AN IDEA FILLED WITH FLUFF!! Is it okay to request?

💞[Skin Writing/Drawing Soulmate AU]✍️ 🖌️ - Reader is an artist and constantly draws many art in their skin because it's just so satisfying! Their soulmate Vash feels appreciated, in love, and beautiful whenever Reader's drawing appear on his skin. Their art just gives him a reason to love his skin despite skin scars 🥺 🖋️ - Reader does calligraphy, and they sometimes quote the bible doing it cause why not? Soulmate Wolfwood just looks with a soft, maybe teasing smile as he sees his soulmate's work. 😎 📜 - Reader is a poet and they randomly have ideas and prompt all throughout the day, so they grab a pen and start writing all the poetry from their head. Soulmate Knives who's intellectual and curious admires whenever his soulmate's writing appear on his skin, he just covers it from others eyes because pest don't deserve to see this beauty. 🌱

YOU CAN PICK TWO OUT OF THE THREE!! IT'S YOUR CHOICE MY FRIEND!!! 😍💝💌

- Sugar Plum Anon 💟

A/N: Just for you Sugar Plum Anon, I’ll do all three <3 I do hope you’re alright though! Please do stay safe! Since I’m doing all three, I hope you’re alright with headcanons instead of normal lil’ one shots. :)

Skin Writing/Drawing Soulmate AU Headcanons

Vash

He was absolutely scared out of his mind when he first saw the ink appear on his skin. He even went as far as to try to scrub his skin raw, and the ink was still fresh as ever. Poor blondie is wondering how the hell something like this is happening.

Meanwhile, you’re doodling like there’s no tomorrow with your ballpoint pen, tracing the outlines of your veins and doodling smiling faces.

Over time, Vash learns to just accept the random appearance and disappearance of drawings across his body. At the end of the day, it’s like a fun little game to see what’s been sketched on him underneath his turtle neck.

It takes a while for Vash to realize that it’s his soulmate doodles appearing on his skin. Warmth floods his heart each time he thinks of this, causing him to lovely trace the marks across his own skin.

He would laugh sometimes at the sudden ink smear appearing on his skin before new sketch marks appeared, your work hypnotizing him. He especially loved when you used different colors, almost painting his skin like a canvas. Eventually, he makes the move to respond.

So imagine your surprise when you find a poorly drawn flower appear on your skin. Ensue the same panic Vash experienced when you remembered you didn’t draw that.

Wolfwood

Scrubbing his skin did nothing. Seeing the scripture on his forearm made him wonder if he had perhaps gotten too drunk the night before and had gotten a tattoo.

The fancy calligraphy was choice, especially with that proverb. For the lips of the adulterous woman drop honey, and her speech is smoother than oil. Wolfwood decided that there could be worse things etched into his skin from that old religion.

You, on the other hand, were giggling to yourself. Oh, the irony of something appearing to beautiful but naughty. A snort escapes from one of your nearby friends.

He didn’t put anymore thought into it until the next day when the ink disappeared. Lowkey, thought he was super dehydrated for him to imagine that, but nope, even after drinking tons of water, the ink was no longer on his skin.

Cue some praying. He nearly has a heart attack when more ink appears on his skin. He has to go back to the orphanage and ask the elders for help on understanding the situation. Turns out it’s a soulmate thing, one which they didn’t even bother to mention until now.

Overtime, he appreciates the calligraphy he appears on his skin, particularly when new motifs appear. Wolfwood liked seeing you test new things and watch as the ink appear on his skin.

However, he was very glad to wear long sleeves when you would write down a particularly dirty proverb like 5:19. He would always end up blushing a bright red like a tomato, a huge contrast to his normal, stoic personality.

Imagine, your surprise when you notice fresh ink on your skin. For your ways are in the full view of the LORD in basic script.

Knives

He almost didn’t see the script appear on his arms, the ink nearly blending into his suit and pale skin. His fingers traced the letters he could make out. Knives immediately knew what this meant, it was his soulmate reaching out- most likely not knowing what was happening.

He tried to ignore it the best he could and kept himself covered with his cloak. Having someone would just drag him down, make it harder to reach his goal of eradicating humanity. However, his curiosity got the best of him.

Taking another look, the bleach blond quickly recognized the letters as chords with their denoted accidentals. Luckily for him, he new how to play. It was child’s play, really.

Meanwhile, your trying to understand how to play different songs only by listening too them. You were too stubborn to look them up, very confident in your ability.

And so it became a pattern for him to decipher your song you had written on his arm. He would spend hours playing the piano, watching the notes on his arm be crossed out and replaced. The composition rarely stayed imprinted on his skin for longer than a day.

Often, Knives would see lyrics being written with the chords. A little artist are we now? His small joke to himself caused a small smile. He would end up humming them, his low voice cutting through the air. It was for the sake of rhythm, he told himself.

Imagine your surprise when you saw a new. mark you knew you hadn’t inscribed into your skin, a word marked out for another.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Priest getou and nun reader or villager reader....(anything other than the word both isnt acceptable...😡😡😡 /j) -🪄

🪄 ANON I SEE YOU AND YOU RAISE A VALID POINT but please consider…… priest!geto and non-believer!reader.

imagine just waltzing into a church one day. almost as if on a whim. you don’t believe in god, you aren’t interested in praying, but you’re exploring this quiant little town, and the church looks pretty from afar, and you figure it could be a nice way to burn time.

you enter the building to find that a sermon is taking place. a priest is speaking to the few rows of people listening. the church is fairly small, but paintings and sculptures and the mellow glow of beautiful cathedral glass give it a sense of mystique that you’re drawn to. you take a seat and listen along, halfheartedly, not praying like the rest, not singing along to the hymns… you stick out like a sore thumb, but hey, it’s not as if anyone is paying attention.

except someone is, and it happens to be the priest that was holding the sermon just a second ago. the same one you spent most of your time oogling once the paintings started to bore you, because he’s so pretty for a priest. beautiful long black hair, amber eyes, sharp facial features, pretty hands and fingers — and the smoothest, silkiest voice you’ve heard in your life. like a sun-soaked bundle of lillies.

… also, his cassock is just a little too tight of a fit to tear your eyes away from.

you stick around a little longer once almost everyone has left, just scrolling on your phone and basking in the quiet, and that’s when he approaches you. he jokingly tells you that it’s always obvious when a non-believer enters a place of worship, but he’s not mad; he’s amused. you end up chatting a bit about your beliefs, he’s a lot more chill than you expected, and…. well. he’s just really, really charming.

so maybe you end up coming back the week after. maybe his smile is a bit like a spider’s web. maybe it becomes a kind of routine to speak to him after his sermons; you still don’t sing along to the hymns or spend any time on prayers, and he still finds it funny. maybe once in a while you end up liking a paragraph from the scripture he’s reciting, and he’s always more than happy to discuss it with you. but mostly you’re there for him. for your chats, for standing outside and badgering him about his beliefs while he smokes and listens with an amused grin.

rain hits the ground with a steady rhythm, earthy tobacco floods your veins, spiders by the ceiling weave a web of dew, and his presence is just a little more intoxicating than you’d deem appropriate.

suguru just… isn’t a very orthodox priest. he doesn’t care for the bible as more than a literary piece, he has his own view of god, his own thoughts on worship. he smokes. he may or may not occasionally manipulate church-goers into donating money so he can invest in another overpriced painting. you ask him if there are any bodies in the basement you should know about, and he answers that any self-respecting priest wouldn’t conduct their blood rituals in the basement of their own church. he knows how to pick locks. he tells you once, very quietly, that he doesn’t believe man was created in god’s image. there’s a look in his eyes that you don’t comment on.

he’s funny. charming. pleasantly suspicious. your conversations are enjoyable for the both of you, and eventually the edges of his cedar eyes begin to crinkle the slightest bit whenever you walk into his field of vision. sometimes he eyes your lips for a little too long, and a honeyed irony seeps into his grin when you call him out on it. he asks you if you’re tempting him on purpose, and you shrug. whatever exists between the two of you remains unspoken.

one day, he tells you that he believes it was god who sent you to him. you furrow your brows with a protest, a mutter reminding him of your beliefs, how you believe in free will — how you waltzed into his church out of your own volition. no one else’s.

he only smiles, and flicks the butt of his cigarette. you think he remains unconvinced.

[jacks347]

I MISSED THE NEW BVZ PREMIERE (THANKS JOB)

So now y'all get my live reaction! (I've never done one of these before, this is gonna be fun)

SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED IT

Intro is great as always, I love this song so much

Here we go~

WHO?? WHAT??

OFF TO A STRONG START

"Lack of cooperation" My guy it's Albus, that's literally his entire thing

On your family?? YOU LEAVE FAITH OUT OF THIS (and Kerano and Devlin)

OH??

HI DEVLIN WHAT

That design is so good, Glowbat you wonder

Plot twist #1, I expect many more

We're not even 5 minutes in, this post is going to be a fucking Bible-

Does Devlin have freckles?? Did he always have freckles?? Beautiful

Oh Devlin got sassy during the break I like :P

Of course he calls for his brother, the strongest person he knows how sweet <3

Miracle of faith, in more ways than one

Oo, that sounds painful

~DINNER BREAK~

ALBUS! LANGUAGE!

Ooo scary protective Albus

"My brothers. My battalion." Oh-

Aaaaand there's the Albus we know and love XD

"Fuck you and your hat!" Pfft you leave Devlin's fedora alone XD

Oh, back to our regularly scheduled program

Waiter I'm afraid you got some capitalism in my cowboy fantasy

GIMME CROSSBOW I WANT A CROSSBOW

I don't even think Albus knows where Albus went, he just heard his brother calling and left

Ewwwww TMI Albus

LIGHTSABER?? WHO LET ALBUS PICK UP A LIGHTSABER

Oo who's at the door? And why do I not trust it-

Oh it's just Devlin-

Uh oh, Albus has to explain his family~

Hi Mahatma! I still don't entirely trust you!

Why am I playing organizing Tetris-

...oops

"Can I ask you something?" I mean you just did so-

"Do you ever feel...powerless?" Well ain't this a pleasant conversation

"Like you can't save the people you care about" WELL AIN'T THIS A PLEASANT CONVERSATION

Look at Hipswitch showing off his detective skills! I'm so proud

Oh? What's on that ship??

Oh god not more new characters-

The mafia's back that's not good-

Why is the mafia fighting the Triad I'M SCARED

THE MAFIA SHOT DOWN THE PALADIN SHIPS?? WHY?? I DON'T LIKE WHERE THIS IS GOING

Another point to the man that can't even fuckin read that he's just a tad bit stupid :P

Boys, boys! You're both pretty stop yelling XD

"Interesting" is certainly a word for it Doc, wait until you hear about the woman they're both in love with-

"Caused any distress" ...do you hear yourself Devlin?

...awkward silence...

Paladins of Cindergorn eh? Looks like we are gonna learn about Faith today

Devlin being a smartypants, Hipswitch giving the most sass I've ever heard in a single sentence, this is great

Ewww I hated everything about that metaphor

"Something doesn't feel quite right" Of course it doesn't because nothing here is ever simple

WHY IS DEVLIN CHANGING COLORS??

"Is there anything else you can actually swallow?" ...Doc that is the wrong person to ask

"Oh...eugh" 10/10 Love that reaction XD

Poor Devlin, he spent enough time single-handedly running a ship-

When did Albus attempt to learn to cook?? And why??

"Don't worry about me" Faith's healer senses are tingling

"I saw you get goosebumps, did I scare you?" Honey considering how this story is going I don't think it was fear-

HIPSWITCH THIS IS NOT THE POSITION YOU WANT TO BE IN WHEN DEVLIN GETS BACK

Oh the secondhand embarrassment is crawling up my spine and it hasn't even happened yet

Please God get off of him before I explode-

And we're safe thank god

"You don't trust him at all, do you?" Would you if you were in my position?

This is really just the backstory episode isn't it

Albus, the hired gun where his last job got him killed, wasn't too keen on being a bounty hunter until he saw the paycheck. Okay that stings a little-

"I'm sure they're fine" *Cut to them being very not fine*

Devlin proudly proclaiming he can't read, 10/10 tension diffused

"We won't tell a soul, right partner?" Sir I couldn't even if I wanted to my mouth is literally just for decoration at this point (don't take that out of context-)

Destroy a sacred scripture surrounded by Paladins of Cindergorn, a certain priestess just felt her eye twitch

Yes Doc, show off that psychology degree you worked so hard for (hi I'm a psych student so it's also the degree *I'm* working so hard for)

"Is Devlin a father?" He's not just a stepdad, he's a dad who stepped up 💪 (that was so bad forgive me-)

Devlin...what did you do...

Okay I do not trust any of what just happened, what are you after Devlin?

Oh god the mafia's back

DOGS?? OH GOD PLEASE NO

NOT DOC!! ALBUS SOUNDS SO WORRIED

Show em what you're made of Albus

Don't talk to Albus like he doesn't know what being trained from birth to be someone's dog is like-

Devlin's going through it again, someone save the poor boy from his flashbacks

Y'know, Redacted being the one getting killed instead of doing the killing is rather cathartic in a bittersweet kind of way

Time to rewrite history! Again!

"What exactly can he do?" Great question, I'll tell you when I find out

Oh great, GB's back on his villain shit what piece of lore are we getting today

I don't trust that music, what's about to happen and is it a sand worm like this is Star Wars (we already had a lightsaber it wouldn't shock me)

I KNEW IT!! ASK ME HOW I KNEW GO ON ASK

WHO IS THE MAN IN THE MASK I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS

"I have someone for this kind of thing" Yes go visit your wife and her special bandage technique :D

"Is it a hooker?" "No! It's not a hooker!" He sounded so offended for her, I love that

:O Let someone else fix you up?? And betray wife?? Wait no Wife is Gienne (hello GB Twitch chat :P)

Where's Faith I saw the cast list where is she

WHAT DO YOU WANT YOU BIRD NOSE FREAK

:D KERANO BABY

Oh that art is adorable

SHE CALLS HIM DAD MY HEART IS GONNA EXPLODE

Oop there's Faith-

And Kerano calls her Mom ughhhhh I'm not gonna make it y'all

"It's been x amount of time" Kerano I love you

"Death is too good for him" Yikes

"That's a relief!" "It is?" Pfft-

Faith went from furious to worried in 2 seconds hearing about Albus, that's our girl

"You didn't tell him about your father's death" HEH?? HONEY YOU DIDN'T TELL *ME* ABOUT HIS FATHER'S DEATH WTF I THOUGHT WE WERE IN THIS TOGETHER FAITH

Oh poor Devlin :(

"I miss him, Faith" Is that the first time we've ever heard Devlin call her by her name? Back in BW he always just called her Sister

Awww hug him for me Faith

Oh yeah, Faith is the only who can actually read-

"Something called Operation Sub Delta" ...what

Oh my god don't read it Faith please god don't read it

And she's reading it-

"You just want an excuse to see him again" Oh look, he's reading the thoughts of the fandom (YES WE WANT ALBUS TO SEE HIS WIFE AGAIN SO SUE US)

"I've actually met someone" EXCUSE ME?? DEVLIN YOU HOE WHO IS IT??

"Look at my choice in men" Ah so she realizes it XD

Come on Faith, connect the dots, I know you're smart enough

And she's done it

Who is Agent and what the hell is happening

Uh oh-

They have the files of the subjects that Devlin doesn't

Which means they can use Albus like their own weapon by probing his training like Kravatas did

Oh I really don't like where this is going

WHAT??

THAT'S THE END??

YOU CAN'T JUST END IT ON THAT WHAT THE HELL

Oh my god this series really loves throwing me for loops doesn't it

OKAY ENDING THOUGHTS

Absolute 100000/10 episode GB you madlad you've done it again

Was completely worth the wait, love seeing the whole cast together again including our new players!

The art is flawless, I expected nothing less of Glowbat

Keep doing what you do you mad genius GB, I'll be holding my breath for the next one (try not to kill me I can't do another 4 months-)

[nsaint1]

hey . how to start self care without much expense

Hey ♡

here are some ways you can start self care without much expense

Journaling! - Just need a pen and paper. We are emotional beings who think A LOT. Start journaling to help yourself not bottle in emotions or thoughts.

Reading positive affirmations - save them in your notes. Try to use I am statements. Affirmations help with confidence, self reassurance, self esteem, and sticking to and accomplishing personal goals!

Reading your Bible - aaah the only book you read that reads you back! I look at reading my Bible like it’s therapy. It’s difficult and uncomfortable but yet so beautiful bc you’re changing within! You may not see the results right away but you will see the difference in how you think and act eventually

Change what you watch or listen to - music, movies, and tv shows have a huge impact on our moods, behaviors, and self perception. Try to only listen and watch things that are positive and leave you feeling happy

Going for a walk - just go outside and go for a walk! It’s stress relieving and helping with your physical fitness

Make healthier food choices - research has proven that eating healthier helps with your mental health! Plus self care is physical health too. Happy body, happy mind! - now for more physical self care things

DIY body scrub - all you need is sugar, honey, and whatever oil you have on hand! Try to exfoliate 2-3 days a week for radiant glowy skin (if you want to use it for your face too, just only use the sugar and honey, do not include the oil! You can use it on your lips too)

Cleaning and painting your nails at home - I find painting my nails so therapeutic and fun (plus you can change your nail color whenever!)

Oiling your hair and nails daily for health and growth

Doing a lymphatic drainage massages on your face every morning for sculpting and depuffing

Put castor oil on your eyebrows and eyelashes every night for growth!

make some rice water or rosemary water to spray in your hair for hair growth

[tiny-elf-of-doom]

Papas As Overrated Restaurants

*Disclaimer: I love 3 of the places listed and I understand why they’re so hyped. Don’t crucify me for putting your favorite restaurant here.

I've disappeared into the nether of dark times and needed something to distract me. Please enjoy these HCs and if you want more comparison posts, let me know via likes or comments! Doing these kinds of posts is fun, especially reading the comments and reblogs. Seeing the interaction literally makes my day.

Papa Nihil - Raising Cane's

This man gets on my fucking nerves and so do people who claim that “Raising Cane’s has the best chicken.” You have a beautiful assortment of places like KFC, Popeyes, and Jolibees, but no. Nihil can’t appreciate nice things like a sweet n’ spicy wing combo OR a gorgeous, psychotic blond. Nah, brother, you get so lost in the sauce, where’s the chicken? Where’s Imperator? She left.

Papa Emeritus I - Panera Bread

Okay, don’t get me wrong, brother is a classic goth grandpa out of his robes and I live for it. However, sitting in a Panera to drink coffee and read an occult novel is retirement spent doing the most basic shit. He’d order that basic shit too: can I get a bowl of broccoli cheddar soup with a baguette? Not until you take your blood pressure meds like the rest of the Panera population.

Papa Emeritus II - Chick-Fil-A

He’s a dick - we know this. He'll order inside just to scare the Christian white women after their Bible book club. He sits in the middle of the dining area and prays to Satan loud enough to be heard by everyone, even by the children in the filthy playground tunnels. Then, he leaves half of the food behind because fuck homophobes, he's got rituals to commence and dicks to suck.

Papa Emeritus III - Starbucks

"Si, I'll take a venti caramel crunch frappuccino with extra caramel drizzle, extra whip, extra ice, extra cinnamon dolce top, 7 pumps of the dark caramel sauce, 1 pump of the honey blend, 5 pumps frappuccino roast coffee, 7 add frappuccino chips, heavy cream, and double blended - I can fucking tell if you didn't double blend."

Papa Emeritus IV - Chipotle

Poor man tries to be hip and trendy, but his success rate isn't incredibly high. He always gets overwhelmed standing in that damn line trying to figure out what he wants. Most of the time, he will look up a TikTok suggestion video on what to get at Chipotle because decision-making hurts his rat brain. Copia will eat what he is given, however, he won't be able to tell what's in it half of the time.